#because again: LARGEST MINORITY IN THE US

[cafeconbrujeria]

It’s simultaneously true that the Latino erasure in American conjure is WILD, and that some people are way too comfortable reading two tumblr posts and going out to shove graveyard dirt into their purse.

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[porterdavis]

Read this again in a year or so...

So, you want me to believe that you voted for a racist, rapist, convicted felon, business fraud who incited a deadly attack on our Capitol after losing the last election because of the price of eggs? That you voted for the orange-dipped dude who ran with a different VP because the last one was nearly hanged for not breaking democracy, because you’ve been getting fewer hours at your job these days?

You want me to believe that you voted for someone who nearly every economist in the world has said will grow our debt (which he did by the third largest amount ever the last time), increase our costs, raise inflation and destroy our GDP because a burger and fries at Five Guys is more expensive than it used to be? You want me to believe that you voted for the drink bleach guy who golfed while thousands of Americans were dying a day because you had it so much better then, when you were stockpiling toilet paper, than you do now?

You want me to believe that you voted for the guy who had 4 years to pass an infrastructure bill and didn’t, the guy who promised Mexico would pay for the wall when they didn’t, the guy who promised to bring manufacturing back, lower the cost of prescription drugs and end the opioid crisis but didn’t, because you preferred his “policies”? You want me to believe you voted for the “grab em by the pussy” guy who wants to destroy the Department of Education and to repeal the ACA despite the fact that he has nothing more than “concepts of a plan” to replace it, the guy who will roll back environmental protections, strip women and minorities of more rights, the guy who will hand Ukraine to Putin and Gaza to Netanyahu, the guy who has said he will be a “dictator on day one”, because you’re worried about losing your gas stove? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe any of that, and frankly, I’m not sure you believe it either.

Because the truth is that your vote wasn’t about any of that. You voted for the traitorous embodiment of the 7 deadly sins because when it came to casting your ballot for a Black woman, you just couldn’t do it. And because you like getting away with being your worst self. And because life is a whole lot easier to stomach when all that has gone wrong for you, is someone else’s fault. Let’s be honest here, that is what it was.

So when the price of eggs is $18, and your Latino neighbors have been deported or moved to some f’d up “camp” to pick the strawberries none of you will pick, and your miscarrying wife has to contend with sepsis before she’s allowed to have an abortion, and your autistic child is unable to get the early intervention they desperately need, please remember what it really was that you voted for.

Because I promise you the rest of us will never, ever forget.

JoJo from Jerz

[vermiciousyidreborn]

People like to talk about the lessons Jews should or did learn from the Holocaust, as though that's the only genocide we've been through. They like to say it should make us the nicest, kindest people because we've been through the worst so how could we ever inflict pain on others? How could we ever hold ourselves as more important to us than others, having seen the camps?

The thing is, we did learn a lesson. And it's a lesson we've been taught time and time again. That when it comes down to it, not only will non-Jews look the other way when Jews are slaughtered, they will gleefully participate and cheer it on. From Rome to the Crusades, to Spain, to Germany and all the places in between, we've learned that we're in this alone. We want to all be in this together, but everyone else has made it clear that that's never going to be the case.

So we know we're alone, that other than a very small minority, the only people who will ever object to Jews bieng murdered are other Jews. The Righteous Among the Nations are a tiny minority, and for every person who was a member, there are not hundreds who think they would have been. Some of them think they would have been and are celebrating the largest pogrom since WWII today. They're wrong, of course. If the Nazis came for the Jews, they'd do what they're doing: celebrate it.

Yes, we learned our lesson. We learned you all hate us, and Jewish existence has to be secured by Jews, no one else will do it for us or help us. This combined with our ancient longing to return to where we came from and created the modern state of Israel. Then there were more attempts to wipe out Jews, more attempts to drive us into the sea and destroy us, but this time, Jews took our future into our own hands and survived. Were there excesses? Yes. War crimes? Definitely. Have the past decades included missteps, crimes, and all sorts of horrible things? Yes.

But why would Israel do these things? Survival. Why has the war against Hamas in Gaza been so destructive? Why has it expanded to Yemen, to Lebanon, and potentially to Iran? Survival. In the end, Israel is a country with a single mandate written in stone: the Jewish people will live. And on October 7th, 2023, Hamas made it clear that whatever mellowing they'd appeared to do, whatever potential there had seemed for peace, Hamas finds that mandate to be intolerable. They believe the Jewish people must die. And then they killed as many as they could. Then the Houthis and Hezbollah joined in, firing rockets and drones.

If you're a country whose mandate is "the people of my country must survive" and with the historical understanding of "and no one will come to our aid if things get really serious" then what do you do? You, too, would view this struggle as existential. You, too, would likely accept casualties and destruction to try to root out the groups trying to wipe you off the face of the Earth. And you, too, wouldn't trust the people who seem weirdly obsessed with attacking the country that is going to extreme lengths to ensure that you survive.

What did the Jewish people learn from the Holocaust? We're alone. Help isn't coming. We have to deal with threats by ourselves. And that's why Gaza is in ruins, why Beirut is being bombed, and why Biden is trying to persude Netanyahu not to destroy Iran's oil refineries. And amid all this, you all are taking to the streets, calling for our deaths, and proving that those lessons were right, but might not have gone far enough.

[surielstea]

Camping Affairs

Kinktober day 4: Size + Hair pulling

Pairing: Lorcan Salvaterre x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Lorcan have to share a tent and can’t find sleep, they find other ways to exhaust themselves.

Warnings: Minors dni | 18+ only | Controlled orgasm I P in V I semi-public (in a tent) | size kink | Hair pulling | praise I clit play | cream pie I fluff at the end

A. Note: I’m so sorry this is late, it didn’t post when I scheduled it for some reason 😭😭, anywho, this is made specifically for the lovely @lexluvswriting because I’m simply here to feed her Lorcan obsession 🫶

6.9k words.

"You know, for being Maeve's pride and joys you'd think we'd be given better accommodations," I say as I lay out my bedroll, the tent Her Majesty supplied us with so small it was almost comical.

"We're warriors, not royalty," Lorcan grumbled from the outside of the canvas, giving me some privacy as I stripped from my leathers and into a nightgown.

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed, poking my head out of the flaps to look up at him. "Rowan is a prince," I say matter-of-factly. "Perhaps he could pull some strings and get us all our own tent," I suggest and he looks at me with that sneering expression he always wore.

"We've battled in wars, I think you can manage," He grumbled, motioning with his hand for me to recede back into the tent. I frowned but backed up and sidled onto my bedroll. I tried not to laugh at the sight of the seven-foot demi-fae crouching to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the tent.

He gave me a glare that I assume was meant to intimidate me but it didn't affect me much when he had to walk on his knees in order to settle on his own bedroll.

All seven of Maeve's blood sworn were called to meet with her in Doranelle, something about the Lost Princess of Terrasan— I wasn't really listening when Rowan was briefing us, all I knew was that I was going to have to pack my life up for the crazed queen I was sworn to, again, and take the week hike away from my comfy home in Varese.

With only three tents, the seven of us were split into pairs. Two per tent, and one on watch outside. Gavriel had posed a system to put the smallest and the largest together, as to avoid uncomfortably in the tents— and I hadn't thought it would be a problem until now. Shoulder to shoulder, with my least favorite of the group.

"Why do you have to be built like a damned giant," I grumble as I shift away from him, the side of me pressing into the wall of the tent. I could've shifted onto my side and separated us a little further— but that would mean I'd have to face him, and at this proximity, I doubt it would be comfortable for either of us.

"Would you rather join Rowan and Fenrys?" Lorcan grumbles, sounding like he was talking in my ear he was so close. I smirk at the idea.

"Can't say I'd be displeased in the middle of that," I purr.

Lorcan sighs, muttering a string of curses, too low to make out. "You're insufferable." He decided on voicing.

"And yet, here we are, stuck with each other," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

He snorts. "I could think of better ways to spend my time."

"Oh?" I hum, turning toward him a little more, my cheek propped on my hand. "What would Lorcan Salvaterre rather be doing right now, instead of sharing a tent with yours truly?"

He shoots me a look, dark and brooding, but his lips twitch. "Not listening to you, for starters."

I roll my eyes. "If you weren't so quiet all the time, maybe I wouldn't have to fill the silence."

"There's silence because I'm trying to sleep," he retorts, though his tone is lighter, almost playful—at least, as playful as Lorcan ever gets.

I scoff, grinning. "Please, you never sleep. You just brood all night like some menacing statue."

"You should be grateful," he says, adjusting his position, his shoulder now brushing against mine. "At least I keep the monsters away."

"Monsters?" I snort. "The only thing I'm afraid of in this tent is your enormous leg crushing me in my sleep."

"You talk too much," Lorcan grumbles, though there's the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"I talk just enough to drive you insane," I shoot back, feeling a strange sense of victory at the idea of getting under his skin. "It's one of my many talents," I add, worsening the blow.

He doesn't respond, but his silence feels different this time. Like he's deciding whether to engage or just strangle me.

"If you're so miserable," I start, stifling a yawn, "you ought to throw me outside and have the whole tent to yourself," I utter, lifting my arms up over my head and stretching out to the best of my abilities.

"Don't tempt me," he grunts, though I don't miss the way his eyes follow me as I stretch, my movements exaggerated just to annoy him.

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," I murmur, settling back down. "Without me to keep you company."

"Go to sleep," he says, ignoring my words.

I smirk up at the stars. "Sweet dreams, Salvaterre."

His grumble is the only reply I get, but for some reason, the sound makes me smile.

The silence stretches on for a few minutes, and I do my best to settle in, but there's no ignoring the cramped space and the sheer presence of Lorcan taking up most of it. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I sigh dramatically.

"I can't sleep," I announced, knowing he was still wide awake.

From beside me, Lorcan groans, clearly exasperated. "Of course, you can't," he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, rolling onto my side to face him, our faces just inches apart in the dim light.

"That you're incapable of quieting down for more than a minute," he grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been quiet for at least five minutes!" I argue, though I can't help the grin tugging at my lips. "And anyway, it's your fault. You're hogging all the space."

He cracks an eye open, giving me a flat look. "You take up about as much room as a pillow. You have plenty of space."

"Then why can't I get comfortable?" I huff, shifting again, this time letting my arm bump against his on purpose.

"You're sleeping with the wolves tonight." He says like it’s a promise.

I gasp dramatically, my hand flying to my chest. "Lorcan Salvaterre, you would abandon me to the creatures of the night? Leave me defenseless and cold?"

"You're hardly defenseless," he says, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I grin, triumphant. "I knew it—you do care."

"Care? I just don't want to explain to Maeve why I let you get eaten by a wyvern," he grumbles, turning onto his side so his back is to me.

I roll my eyes, inching closer just to annoy him. "You'd miss me," I murmur, as if it was an absent thought.

"Like a hole in my head."

I poke him between the shoulder blades. "Liar. You'd be lost without me. Who else would keep you entertained on these long, miserable missions?"

He doesn't respond right away, but I don't miss the way his shoulders tense at my words. "You're assuming I need entertainment."

"You're assuming you don't," I tease, leaning in until my chin is nearly resting on his arm. "Deep down, I know you love it. My sparkling wit, my endless charm—"

He turns so quickly that I almost tumble backward, his face suddenly centimeters from mine. His dark eyes glint with something that makes my heart skip a beat. "You're lucky I don't actually throw you out of this tent."

I blink up at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at the proximity. "You'd never."

His eyebrow raises. "You willing to bet?"

I raise mine right back, leaning in just a fraction more.

"I do." There's a brief moment where neither of us moves, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, Lorcan rolls his eyes and collapses back onto his bedroll.

"You're impossible," he mutters, covering his face with his arm. "Go to sleep before I do actually throw you out."

I smirk, victory swelling in my chest. "Admit it—you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

"If I admit it, will you shut up?"

"I'll think about it," I hum, settling back into my bedroll, feeling way more pleased with myself than I should.

"Fine," he growls. "I'd be bored."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "See? Was that so hard?"

Lorcan groans again, louder this time. "It was unbearable."

"Goodnight, Lorcan," I say sweetly, curling up and closing my eyes, but I'm still grinning like an idiot.

From beside me, I hear a quiet mutter, almost too soft to catch. "Goodnight."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, but as usual, my mind refused to settle. The darkness outside the tent feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation of the mission ahead. I chew my bottom lip, turning over a dozen questions in my head before finally blurting out the one that's been nagging me all night.

"What do you think Maeve wants from us?"

Lorcan's groan is immediate. "You said you'd shut up," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"I said I'd think about it, Salvaterre," I correct, nudging him with my elbow. "Besides, I can't sleep when you keep kicking me."

He huffs out a breath, lifting his arm from his eyes to glare at me. "I haven't moved an inch."

"Oh, really?" I feign innocence, shifting my foot to gently nudge his leg. "What do you call this?"

"That," he says flatly, "is you kicking me."

"I'm just showing you what it feels like," I shoot back, smirking as I prod his shin again.

"Stop that," he growls.

"I will when you answer my question."

"You should be more worried about surviving the week without me strangling you."

I huff, my face burning, but the silence that follows is heavier now—charged with the tension that neither of us wants to acknowledge. After a beat, I clear my throat, breaking it.

"You still didn't answer my question."

He sighs, long and dramatic. "How should I know? Probably some power play involving the Princess."

"Do you think they’ll ally?" I ask, though I know I'm pushing my luck.

He hesitates, his gaze flicking toward the tent's ceiling. "I don’t know," he admits. "Or she might just want us to deal with something different entirely. Maeve doesn't summon all of us for nothing."

I nod, feeling a shiver run through me. "I just hope we don't end up with another war on our hands."

Lorcan shifts slightly, his massive form somehow taking up even more space. "If we do, I'll be sure to shove you out in front to make use of all that 'charm' you keep going on about."

I roll my eyes, kicking him lightly under the blanket. "You're the worst."

He opens one eye to glance at me, unamused. "If I kill you in your sleep, it's your fault."

"Please," I scoff, sitting up slightly. "You couldn't strangle me even if you tried. I'd have you pinned in a heartbeat."

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, one that's more amused than I expected. "You? Pin me?"

I raise an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "You'd be surprised."

He tilts his head slightly, considering me with a dark glint in his eyes. "Go on, then. Prove it."

I blink, caught off guard by the challenge. "What, right now?"

He shrugs, the movement sending a ripple through his broad shoulders. "Unless you're too scared."

I narrow my eyes, inching closer. "I'm not scared."

His lips twitch, just barely, but enough to make my heart pound in my chest. "Then do it."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I shift, moving to straddle his waist. "Okay," I say, though my voice sounds much shakier than I intended. "See? You're completely at my mercy now."

Lorcan, infuriatingly, doesn't look remotely concerned. He just stares up at me, one eyebrow raised, as if waiting for something more. "That's it?"

"Well, I—" I start, but he interrupts by effortlessly grabbing my wrists in one of his massive hands and flipping me over before I can even process what's happening.

In the blink of an eye, I'm pinned beneath him, my back pressing into the bedroll as his weight holds me in place. His face hovers inches above mine, dark and unreadable, though I swear there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"I think that's what you were trying to do," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but with a playful edge.

I glare up at him, trying to squirm, but he doesn't budge. "You cheated."

He leans in slightly, his breath brushing against my cheek. "You didn't give me much of a challenge."

"You're such a brute," I snap, though I'm more frustrated with myself for falling right into his trap.

"I can't believe I made Whitethorn train you instead, this is delightful."

"Oh please, you just forgot the feel of a woman beneath you."

"Care to remind me what I've been missing?" His smirk widens, daring me to say more.

"Depends, what do I get in return?"

"A lesson, maybe I'll teach you what it's like to be beneath someone who knows how to be in control."

His words hang in the air between us, and my breath catches, the challenge in his voice igniting something deep within me. I try to maintain my composure, but the way his dark eyes lock onto mine makes it difficult. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart race, a spark of something primal that sends shivers down my spine.

"Is that so?" I reply, my voice teasing yet laced with curiosity. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"A demonstration," he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath warms my skin, his lips hovering tantalizingly above mine.

The space between us crackles with tension, my heart pounding in my chest as I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, I find determination mixed with that devil-may-care amusement that is so quintessentially Lorcan. It drives me wild.

"Show me, then," I challenge, emboldened by the heat of the moment.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and before I can brace myself, he captures my wrists in his powerful hands and shifts, pinning them above my head against the soft canvas of the tent. My breath hitches at the sudden thrill of being completely at his mercy, the weight of his body pressing me into the bedroll, a heady mix of vulnerability and exhilaration flooding my senses.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a thrill racing through me.

"Do I have a choice?" I reply, trying to sound defiant but feeling the flush of excitement creeping up my neck.

"Good answer," he says, leaning down, his lips barely brushing against mine, teasingly close yet just out of reach. The warmth of his breath sends tingles across my skin, and I can't resist the urge to lean in, desperate for that connection.

"Stop teasing," I whisper my heart racing, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Just kiss me already."

With a low growl of approval, he closes the distance, capturing my lips with his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It's electric, a jolt that sends sparks dancing along my nerves, igniting every inch of my skin. The kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the taste of him—warm and intoxicating.

His lips move against mine with a hungry urgency, coaxing me into the rhythm of it. I respond instinctively, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, urging him on. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of us, entangled in the heat of the moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressing into mine, the way his strength envelops me, sending a rush of desire coursing through my veins. It's overwhelming and intoxicating, igniting a fire within me that I didn't know was there.

I part my legs and he adjusts, slotting between them— gods it was an effort for my legs to even widen enough. He grabbed my thigh in one of his large hands and guided it up higher, then the other, until I was in a mating press beneath him. He smirked against my lips, his hands moving to trail up my sides. "Now you're really at my mercy," He purred and my core thrummed in anticipation.

"Lorcan," I panted into his open mouth, unable to find the words to tell him how badly I needed this.

"As much as I love the sound of you moaning my name, I need you to stay quiet for me, yeah?" He asked and I sucked in a breath, nodding all too quickly, too desperately.

He smirked at the reaction and captured my lips with his yet again, devouring me as he pried my mouth open with his tongue, exploring me with it, not missing a spot uncovered.

I tugged at the waistband of his pants and he captured my wrist before I could tug them down much further. "Not yet, I need to stretch you out first," He warned, his tone brooking no argument.

I let out a soft whimper of protest and he pressed his mouth onto mine, his voice softening as he said, "I don't want to hurt you, be patient for me and I promise I'll make you feel good alright?" He reassured me, his thumb brushing over the pulse point of my wrist before releasing it.

I nod slowly, slipping my hands into his silky black hair while he pushes up my nightgown.

He practically tore through my panties without a second thought, then froze for a moment before making contact. His eyes flicked to mine and I returned his stare with pleasing eyes and a rapid nod. He leaned down, below my lips and to the line of my jaw, making his way down the column of my throat before his calloused fingertips came to contact with my pulsing cunt.

His lips morphed into a malicious smile as he felt just how badly I needed him, the way I was practically dripping down his hand. "So wet, and here I was thinking you hated me?" He drawled against my skin, kissing down my chest and then back up to the hollow of my throat.

I tug at his hair, silently begging him for more. "Lorcan," I whine, words failing me as I arch into his touch, attempting to get even the smallest taste of pleasure. "Please, touch me," I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"I am touching you, love," He whispered, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

My brows furrowed, features contorting with need. "Inside of me, please," I beg. A smirk pulls at his lips and he leans closer, gently pressing his lips to my cheek— too gentle to be casual. But I didn't have time to weigh the action because suddenly he had two fingers pushing inside of my aching cunt, stretching me out.

A gasp escaped me and he swallowed it greedily before connecting our lips again, silencing me.

His long, calloused fingers pumped skillfully into me, grazing against my contracting walls. "Fuck, you're tight," He breathed as I clenched desperately around his hand, gripping his hair but not pulling. His other hand snaked up my propped-up thigh, pinning it down with a possessive need.

His thumb met my clit and it took everything in me not to scream, to cry out his name. "That's it," He encouraged. "Such a good girl, staying quiet for me," He praised, making the tension in my core tighten until it was nearly unbearable.

My overwhelming need for release was all-consuming, every thrust of his fingers, every roll of his thumb sent me reeling. He knew I was close, knew from the way I was trembling beneath him— I knew that he knew, but still, I cried in protest when his hand stilled.

"Not yet," He warned softly, pulling his hand out of me entirely, leaving me empty and aching. I opened my mouth to protest, to beg him to keep going, but he cut me off with a searing kiss, swallowing my complaints with his lips. "I said, be patient," He whispered against my mouth, his tone dark and commanding. "And when you come, it'll be on my cock. Understood?"

I nodded quickly, my breath coming in desperate pants, the tension in my body screaming for release. But I clamped down on my objections, not wanting him to drag this out longer than he already meant to.

His smirk widened, pleased with my compliance, and he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, his pants hitting the ground with a soft thud. The sight of him—broad and powerful, his skin glistening in the dim light of the tent—made my pulse quicken, and the need to feel him inside me surged with renewed intensity.

He moved to get rid of my clothes too, still bunched at my hips. Luckily he didn't rip it off of me as he did with my panties, instead guided the material over my head, baring me to the brisk night air and his intense gaze.

"Beautiful," He whispered softly, pressing a claiming kiss to the top of one of my breasts. My lip wobbled with a need to moan but I held it down, instead distracted myself with the sight of him.

His shirtless figure was a sight to behold, carved muscle and a chest as hard as marble, but it was what was below his torso that made me pause.

I had expected Lorcan to be big, but gods. I had been with many men in my immortal life, and still, he made me freeze.

His smirk widened as he noticed where my stare was directed. He settled himself between my thighs, his broad frame dwarfing mine. I could feel the heat of him pressing into me, so much of him. My breath hitched, and his dark eyes flicked down, catching the way I bit my lip as he aligned himself at my entrance. His size alone had me trembling, and he knew it—relishing in the subtle way my body tensed beneath him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I almost feel bad," he whispered, "about how much I'm going to stretch you out."

A low whimper escaped me, and I felt his grin against my skin. My fingers curled into his hair, tugging lightly as I drew him closer, desperate for more. His eyes darkened as I pulled harder, and I could feel the tension ripple through his body.

"Be good for me, love, and stay still," he purred, voice a velvety rasp. His hips barely moved, teasing me with the blunt head of his cock as he pushed forward just enough to stretch me—just enough to drive me wild. He pulled back before I could feel the full pressure, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he watched my hips arch off the bedding, chasing him.

"You're so desperate," he murmured, his breath hot against my throat, "so needy." His tone was teasing in a way that would usually enrage me, but the way he said it sent a rush of heat to my core instead, making me clench around nothing, aching for him to fill me.

"Lorcan," I whispered, my voice trembling as I shifted beneath him, trying to ease the ache. He groaned at the sound of his name on my lips, and the tension in his body told me he was holding back, keeping himself in check for my sake.

Slowly, torturously, he guided himself to my entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing me, stretching me open just enough to make me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he began to push forward, the burn of the stretch sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure through my core.

"Fuck," I breathed, my eyes squeezing shut as he inched deeper. He was so big—bigger than I'd expected—and I had to fight to keep my breaths steady as my body adjusted to the size of him.

Lorcan paused for a moment, letting me catch my breath, his large hand caressing my thigh in slow, soothing strokes. "You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, full of restraint. "Just relax for me."

"Stay still," he breathed, voice rough as he pulled back just enough to make me whine, the emptiness unbearable. "Gods, it's hard to control myself when you keep moving like that."

A shiver ran through me at his words, my core clenching around him as he pressed forward again, slow and deliberate, giving me every thick inch of him until I was stretched impossibly full. My legs trembled as they tried to accommodate his size, and his hands came down to hold them steady, lifting my thighs higher, and spreading me wider beneath him.

"That's it, just like that," he murmured, his voice dropping to a growl as he adjusted his angle, sliding deeper still. "Good girl, taking me so well."

I whimpered at the praise, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging harder now, desperate to feel him move. His breath hitched, a low moan escaping him as I pulled, and I could feel the way it affected him—how much it pushed him closer to the edge of his restraint.

But Lorcan wasn't one to be rushed.

He withdrew agonizingly slow, leaving me panting beneath him, aching for him to fill me again. "You can handle a little more, can't you?" he teased, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw the need in my eyes. My hands moved from his hair to the nape of his neck, trying to pull him back down to me, urging him on, but he caught my wrists with ease, pinning them above my head with one large hand. The contrast in size was startling—his fingers easily wrapping around both of my wrists, holding me completely at his mercy.

He leaned down, his lips barely brushing mine as he whispered, "Stay still, or I'll make you wait longer."

A soft whimper escaped me, and he chuckled darkly, pleased with my compliance. Slowly, he started to move again, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one drawing out the delicious stretch, making me gasp as he filled me completely, finally bottoming out as his hips pressed into mine.

My body trembled beneath him, the intensity of it building with every slow, torturous thrust. I could feel the thick slide of him inside me, the way my walls clenched around his cock, desperate to hold him, to keep him deep inside. But Lorcan kept up the slow pace, each thrust deeper than the last, drawing me out, making me feel every inch of him.

"Fuck, so tight," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with desire. His free hand slid down my side, gripping my waist as he pulled me closer, his hips rolling into me with a new intensity that made me see stars.

"Lorcan," I mewled, writhing beneath him, bucking my hips up to meet his

He let out a low growl as I continued to disobey his order to stay still. "If you keep doing that," he warned, his voice thick with strain, "I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

"Then don't," I breathed, my voice trembling as I arched into him, wanting—needing—more.

His eyes darkened, and before I could say anything else, he was moving again, faster now, his thrusts more intense, each one hitting deeper, making me cry out in pleasure. He swallowed my moans with his mouth, devouring me with a kiss so fierce it left me breathless.

Lorcan's hand, the one not gripping my wrists, slipped between us, his thumb brushing over my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp, my body jerking beneath him. "Stay quiet," he reminded me, his voice a low growl as his thumb circled slowly, teasingly. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, would we?"

I shook my head frantically, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out as his pace quickened, the tension inside me building unbearably with every push and pull of his powerful hips, every circle of his thumb on my sensitive clit. I was so close, so on edge, but I knew he wasn't going to let me go just yet. He wanted to drag it out, to make me feel every second of it.

His lips ghosted over my ear as he whispered, "I love how small you feel beneath me—how perfectly you fit around my cock."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, making my walls tighten around him in response. I could feel the heat of his body pressing into mine, the steady rhythm of his thrusts making me dizzy with desire. The way he filled me, stretched me, it was almost too much—almost, but not enough.

I wanted more. I needed more.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Gods, you're so fucking tight," he growled, his voice low and guttural as he picked up the pace, thrusting into me harder, deeper. My body arched beneath him, instinctively chasing the pleasure only he could give me.

His hand, still holding my wrists above my head, tightened its grip, his other sliding down my body to grab hold of my waist, pulling me against him with each thrust. The intensity was overwhelming, but I craved every second of it. His thumb returned to my clit, circling it with maddening precision, making my toes curl and my breath catches in my throat.

I bit down on my lip, desperate to keep quiet as he'd commanded, but it was nearly impossible with the way he was driving me to the brink, over and over again. I could feel the pressure building in my core, a white-hot ball of tension that threatened to unravel me at any moment.

"You close baby?" Lorcan rasped, his voice rough as he ground his hips into mine, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. His thumb pressed harder on my clit, the friction sending shockwaves through my body.

I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words, my head spinning with the need for release.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as he continued his relentless pace, driving me wild. "Beg me to let you come."

I whimpered, my body trembling beneath him as I struggled to find the words. "Please, Lorcan," I whispered, my voice shaking as I arched up against him, desperate for more. "Please, please I can't hold it— I need it, Lor."

He groaned at my words, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, his control slipping. "Good girl," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Go ahead, come on my cock."

With those words, the tension inside me snapped. My entire body clenched around him, my back arching off the bed as I came undone, the wave of pleasure crashing over me so violently I saw stars. I bit down on my lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape as my orgasm tore through me, every nerve in my body alight with sensation.

Lorcan let out a low, guttural groan as he felt me clench around him, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. His hips snapped into mine one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came with a low growl, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless second, neither of us moved, the sounds of our ragged breathing the only thing filling the air. But as the intensity slowly ebbed, Lorcan pulled back, his smirk already returning to his lips. He let out a satisfied hum as he leaned down to press a lazy kiss to my jaw. "See? You can follow orders when you really want to."

I swatted his chest weakly, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Don't get used to it," I said, still panting, though my voice had a playful edge to it.

He chuckled, rolling off me and settling onto his side, his large arm draped possessively over my waist. "I don't need to. You'll break soon enough."

I snorted, feeling the familiar banter falling back into place. "You're dreaming, Salvaterre. If anything, you're the one breaking. You were practically trembling back there."

His dark eyes flashed with amusement, and he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If I was really trying to break you, you wouldn't even be able to walk right now."

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips. "Bold words for an old man who can barely control himself."

He raised a brow, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to remind me of his strength. "Care to test that theory?"

I shot him a challenging look, though the heat still lingered in my veins. "Maybe next time," I teased, flipping onto my side to face him, our noses brushing and suddenly the tent didn't feel all that small. "You've got to save some energy if you plan on keeping up with me, after all."

His eyes glinted with amusement, and the playful edge in his smile sent a shiver of anticipation through me. "Oh, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into,"

With a wink, I scooted a little further from him— well, as far as I could, feigning innocence. "Well, in that case, let's see if you can keep your hands to yourself until morning."

Lorcan's low chuckle reverberated in the tent, his eyes gleaming with challenge as he watched me. "Go to sleep already," He insisted. I look at him, staring at his features softened by the moonlight filtering through the canvas.

And as I settled back into the blankets, his body warm beside mine, I couldn't help but smirk, knowing that the game between us was far from over. "Goodnight, Lor," I mumble quietly.

The faint light of dawn filtered through the tent, pulling me from sleep. The warmth of Lorcan's body was missing, and the space beside me felt cool to the touch. I blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rolled onto my back, pulling the thin blankets over my bare body, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding as I thought about everything—what it meant to have crossed that line with Lorcan. We'd been stuck in this tense back-and-forth, pushing each other's buttons ever since I met the male, but last night had changed everything, we stepped past a boundary we couldn't come back from. A part of me wondered if it would be different now, or if he'd go back to being the brooding, impossible male he was before. My chest tightened, but I pushed the thought aside. No use overthinking it, especially when we had a mission to accomplish.

I took a deep breath, sitting up and squaring my shoulders as I reached for my clothes, trying to act as normal as possible. We had orders and obligations, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by what happened between us. But gods, it was hard to ignore the lingering ache in my body, between my legs, the reminder of how thoroughly Lorcan had claimed me.

I ran my hands through my messy head of hair and braided it back to have somewhat of a semblance of neatness. With my nightgown replaced by my gear, I slipped out of the tent, the early morning air crisp against my skin, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves. As I approached the campfire, I spotted Lorcan among the rest of Maeve's blood sworn—all gathered around, the smell of campfire smoke filling my senses.

The moment I stepped to where the rest sat, Fenrys' head snapped up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look who decided to join us."

I forced a casual smile, pretending I hadn't noticed the way the rest of the males exchanged looks. "Good morning," I said, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I kept my eyes off Lorcan as I took a seat beside the white wolf, ignoring the tension in my stomach that was somewhere between knots and butterflies.

Lorcan didn't say anything, but I could feel his presence in front of me, his tall frame looming over the fire as he flipped something on the skillet. I couldn't tell what it was amidst the flames, but with the way Vaughan and Rowan were wincing something told me it was a bird one of the others seemed good enough to eat.

Rowan raised a brow at me, his sharp gaze flicking between Lorcan and me before he smirked. "You sleep well?" he asked innocently, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

I shot him a sidelong glance. "As well as I could, considering someone was snoring."

Fenrys snorted, nudging Gavriel on the other side of him, who was trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. "Must've been some noise last night," Fenrys said under his breath, not bothering to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

Heat surged to my face, and I glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gavriel gave a soft cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, while Fenrys outright cackled. "Don't worry," Fenrys said, flashing me a wink. "No judgments here."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure my expression was betraying me, but I shot back, "How sweet of you, Fenrys."

"You know, if you ever grow bored of the brooding male you could always come join me in my tent instead," Fenrys added, leaning back on his palms with his signature smirk. "I could show you what it's like to really be loud," He suggested and I swore Lorcan's knuckles turned white he was gripping his hunting knife so tightly. But he remained steady, didn't so much as look at us as he awaited my reply.

"Tempting, Fenrys, but I think I'll stick with what I have. Once you go tall, dark, and brooding, it's hard to go back." I say, flicking my gaze past the fire to Lorcan, whose shoulders visibly relaxed.

Fenrys clenched at his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded. "Ah, so it's like that, is it?" he quipped, but the glint in his eye said he was far from offended. "I guess I'll just have to find solace in knowing I could've changed your life forever."

I grinned, leaning back on my hands as I shot him a mock-sympathetic look. "You'll survive, Fenrys. I hear rejection builds character."

He was about to retort when Rowan chimed in, his deep voice filled with dry amusement. "I don't know, Fenrys. After last night, it sounds like she found someone more than capable of showing her a good time."

My cheeks flamed as I glared at Rowan, though I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You too, huh?" I shot back.

Before Fenrys could continue the teasing, Lorcan finally broke his silence, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip about things that don't concern you?" He still didn't look up from the skillet, but the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Vaughan, silent as ever, gave a half-shrug, tossing a stick into the fire as he added his two cents, his voice calm but amused. "Considering the noise last night, it kind of does concern all of us."

A chorus of snickers followed, and even Gavriel cracked a grin. My face went up in flames, and I buried it in my hands. "You all need better hobbies," I muttered into my palms, but it did nothing to stop the laughter ringing through the camp.

I turned my head just enough to catch Lorcan's eyes as he finally glanced over at me, the firelight flickering in his gaze. The corner of my lips lifted in a challenging smirk.

"If you lot are done, breakfast is ready." He moved and passed me a plate, his warm hand brushing against mine for just a second—a flicker of something unspoken passing between us—before he turned back to the skillet.

The knowing looks from the others didn't stop throughout breakfast. Fenrys continued to make sly comments, Rowan smirked every time Lorcan so much as glanced at me, and even Gavriel, the most serious of the group, couldn't completely hide his amusement.

I had managed to block all of their comments and snickering remarks out, but for some reason, I wasn't able to shake the stare Lorcan had pinned on me.

I looked over to him and for a moment his eyes flicked down to my lips, a challenge. I smirked, beckoning him to test the silent boundaries. He didn't move, but he didn't look away either, and something told me we were nowhere near finished with each other.

Comment or reblog with a “💋” to be added to the kinktober taglist!

Kinktober Taglist: @a-courtof-azriel @rosecobollway @bookwormysblog @whataenginerd @sassyangel16 @lorosette @92404-blog1 @skittslackoffilter @scorpioriesling @pey2618 @scarsandallaz @azysmate @iluvyewman-blog @obliviouslittleminx @hailqueenconquer @buckysfavoritedoll @fourthwing4ever

[narumi-gens]

Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional? 

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional. 

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside. 

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife. 

But you know that traditional really just means boring. 

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita. 

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child. 

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options. 

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west. 

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person. 

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed. 

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza. 

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull. 

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening. 

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense. 

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them. 

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows. 

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste. 

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes. 

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life. 

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively. 

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it. 

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads. 

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades. 

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts. 

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza. 

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with. 

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers. 

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed. 

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants. 

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff. 

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look. 

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call. 

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible. 

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya. 

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier. 

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body. 

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy. 

“Enough.” 

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt. 

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space. 

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy. 

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common. 

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again. 

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter. 

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter. 

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out. 

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep. 

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess. 

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point. 

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well. 

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show. 

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response. 

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees. 

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten. 

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place. 

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea. 

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.” 

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more. 

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you. 

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste. 

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger. 

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you. 

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.” 

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states. 

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much. 

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors. 

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita. 

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards. 

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name. 

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin. 

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles. 

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely. 

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs. 

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively. 

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh. 

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness. 

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. 

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled. 

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun. 

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you. 

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum. 

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him. 

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know. 

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him. 

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like. 

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?” 

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give. 

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees. 

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips. 

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.  

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before. 

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.  

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface. 

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously. 

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze. 

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

[carionto]

What comes down, must go up

For the vast majority of tools, specialization is the way to go. From the smallest cooking utensils to intergalactic habitation stations, when it is designed from the core out with a specific purpose in mind, it will perform exceptionally well if you stick with the plan.

Most of Humanity does not appear to agree. Now, they certainly do have and use plenty of highly advanced tools that can only function in one way (their dinosaur research space station that recently oriented itself around a Deathworld being a prime example), but a surprising number of seemingly precision tools are used in a myriad of unconventional ways.

Like, we've seen a fork used as a makeshift holder for yarn spinning, as a fishing tool after some minor modifications (bending and tying to some string), as well as in a performance after adding these things they call googly eyes. Or the infinitely complex subatomic splitter whose sole purpose is to reduce an atom from one element to a smaller one in a non-explosive way - it uses concentrated light emitters to achieve this. One Human configured it into a tattoo device.

In fact, we suspect Humans deliberately attempt to find as many uses for a single tool as possible, even when, and sometimes because (out of spite, perhaps?), another tool that does that thing already exists.

Their spacecraft are no exception. Those behemoths might even be the focus of maximizing adaptability for as many scenarios as they can possibly think of.

For starters - ALL of them are rated for atmosphere entry and capable of FOUR TIMES Earth standard gravity lift off. Including their largest planned vessels yet - the Colony Ships. The SMALLEST design will be TWENTY EIGHT KILOMETERS LONG and average height/width of SIX KILOMETERS. And they themselves don't even know how big their biggest will be, they just said:

"Eh, whatever will feel right at the time."

As for why everything HAS to be able to land AND take off even though it literally at least triples the mass of each ship, necessitating what we view as a massive waste of resources:

"If the planet turns out to be kinda... meh, the colonists will be able to pack up and try again with the same ship. C'mon, gotta think ahead with these things."

Not only that, but we also learned most are able to SUBMERGE AND WITHSTAND A KPA OF 142'000! The military grade ones are even tougher than that! They could dip inside gas giants and not be torn apart!

Wait...

[scanning Jupiter]

Please no...

[confirmation beep]

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE! THEY'RE HIDING INSIDE A STORM!

[best-of-yandere]

Penny for your thought?

How do you think a yandere Dick Grayson would react if he ever found out that his s/o used to be an illegal street racer as a way of earning so.e quick cash?(From personal experience street raving pays a lot. The largest I ever won was about like $17,000)

NO MINORS 18+ ONLY

The answer to this differs slightly depending on whether you're already dating, or he has yet to approach you.

TW: surveillance, murder, yandere

Reaction when you guys are dating:

😱 <- this face, basically. Later, he'll wonder how you hid this from him for so long, sending him into a spiral trying to find the gap in his surveillance of you that allowed you to slip past him to do street racing. At the moment, though, he's panicking over how dangerous street racing is.

All the ways you could've died before he made you his, all the times you could've gotten arrested (taken from him), that you've been hanging around dangerous (to him, at least) people that could've hurt you - and this is where his delusion kicks in. Dick doesn't want to believe you'd purposely put yourself in danger, so he pins the blame on the other racers; telling himself that they forced you to race, to hide it from him, that they're trying to tear you two apart!

Since (in his mind) you're being forced to race, he arranges a bust on a night you're not there. Once the other racers are locked up, you'll be free! If this stops your racing, it'll end there, although Dick makes it his mission to prevent you from having any other secrets from him again. If you keep racing, however, he'll be forced to take drastic measures, and he'll kidnap you. In his mind, he's protecting you.

If you're not dating yet:

Also this face 😱. Because he's still in the surveillance stage of stalking you, he skips the spiraling since you weren't able to hide this from him. Instead, he skips right to forcing you to quit. Sabotaging your car so you'll come in last place, close calls with the police where they arrest all your racing friends, and you just barely get away; Dick is pulling out all the stops to get you to quit. If you keep racing, he'll be forced to do something drastic: he'll lure some lowlife criminal to the streets you're racing on, and have one of your friends crash into him, killing the criminal with you being able to see it happening.

He doesn't want to hurt you, but Dick is willing to do what (he thinks) is necessary to get you to stop such a dangerous past-time. And besides, it's not like Dick is the one who killed him, so he'd be in the clear with Batman (who also has his own darling, so he's more understanding of the family's...activities).

[marshmellin]

He Always Gives You One (1) ☝️

Explicit content under the cut. Rated S for Smut, 6.3K words, Gil-galad x unnamed woman, 2nd person POV, no use of y/n or female's name, bratting and spanking

You jutted your chin out and took in a large breath, leaning forward so your breasts pushed against the solid muscle of his chest. “Are you unable to come up with ideas on your own, High King? Do you not have a plan? You have had me dressed and dragged to your quarters hours before a ridiculous, boring formal dinner party and you do not yet know what you wish to do with me during that time?”

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

Tags: Truly porn without plot, bratting and brat taming kink with Gil-galad as a soft!Dom. Includes elements of playfully saying "no," or being 'mouthy' with Gil-galad, but consent is clear and behavior is consistent with typical light bratting. Includes fingering, light spanking, and giving minor commands to the woman. No beta, we die like Valendil (forgive me for that last tag)

Note: I meant for this to be like...600 words of soft!Dom Gilgadaddy headcanons and here the fuck we are. Not a bad place to wind up, honestly. If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

Again: explicit content under the cut. Mind the tags.

//

Despite being the king of the largest realm — Elven or otherwise — in Middle Earth, Gil-galad often finds himself not being listened to. Whether it's pushback from his commanders or his advisors or the other rulers and realms around him, he spends most of his days compromising with others. Negotiating something necessary and  important into something almost-but-not-quite-what-he-wanted. 

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating.

He is also mired in a constant cycle of pleasantries and curtsies and polite gestures he is required to make on a near-daily basis as High King, regardless of how he feels or whom he would prefer to spend time with or if he would simply like a break from the constant churning demands of what is proper here and what is an insult there.  

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating as well. 

Which is why he has taken so much pleasure in his relationship with you. 

Because Gil-galad also finds you to be very, very, very frustrating. You also do not listen to him. You also angle for him to concede compromises in ways that you should not ask for. You also wheedle and argue and push back against his wishes and commands and requests. You ignore what he is and the power he wields as a king. Intentionally. Every time. 

Yet with you — unlike all the other duties Gil-galad must attend to, and all the other compromises Gil-galad must make, and all the other concessions Gil-galad must agree to — he chooses to call for you instead. To focus on you. To talk you down. To make you sing for him. 

To tame you. 

Every time. 

And every time he controls the way he spends his evenings with you, gently chides you to follow his wishes, plainly tells you to stop fighting and give in as he discovers new ways to make you come apart… you both win. 

It’s a game you play very willingly. 

So when he sent a note that requested you come join him in his chambers, you scribbled back a hasty, impertinent, “Why? Try harder, Ereinion, I am bored,” and made the courier complete his circuit back to Gil-galad for the sixth time that day. 

When Gil-galad told you over breakfast that he would very much enjoy your company at a formal dinner that evening, you told him no and challenged him to make you go. You said you did not want to. That you will never want to. You said he can not make you, that you won’t do it. That he did not decide. 

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow and warned you once — he always gives you one (1) — his voice low and rumbling in his chest. “I am pleased to hear that you will attend with me.”

You raised an eyebrow and shook your head firmly, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him. “You heard no such thing from me.”

“I do not suggest you test my resolve on this request, clever one.”

You decided instantly that you will, in fact, test his resolve on that request. So when the evening came, you sat rigidly at the end of your bed in your own chambers, fully dressed from head to toe for a formal (and boring) dinner event. You had prepared hours early and you had been ready to go to him at least an hour ago. But you intentionally had not joined him in his rooms at the time he requested. 

The time he requested so that you could spend time together before you attended this boring dinner. 

You knew he would not allow you to ignore him for long. The thought made your thighs clench. 

Gil-galad sent exactly one (1) courier with exactly one (1) note. In the king’s own very neat, precise handwriting: “I wish to see you before dinner. My request requires no further discussion, and therefore the courier will not return with a message for me, no matter how often you ask it of him. Come to me now.”

That tempted you — he knew it would, because that is why he wrote it — and you immediately asked the courier if he would take a note to Gil-galad in return. The elf looked half-frightened and backed his way out of the room, shaking his head and muttering something about troop reports. You watched him spin to the left and march quickly toward Gil-galad’s chambers. 

Reports, indeed. 

When the two guards came to your quarters exactly five (5) minutes later, they found you at your self-appointed place at the end of the bed, sitting with your hands on your lap. Fully dressed with nowhere to go. They asked for you to follow, saying High King Gil-galad urgently requested your presence, if you would not mind following them to his quarters. 

They asked politely, but the set of their jaws suggest it was not a request from Gil-galad, but a command. 

You acquiesce for the first — and you know not the last — time this night. 

When you arrive, Gil-galad opened the door and waved away the guards before guiding you into the room by the arm. He was very gentle. He was very quiet. And for a moment he gazed down at you with a mild look of disapproval etched on his handsome face. He even tsked gently as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, nudging you to look at him and meet his gaze. 

You very pointedly rolled your eyes. 

“Did you lose track of time after receiving my message?” he asked slowly, his voice dangerously low. “You did not come to me when I called for you.”

A warrior and a gentleman, you think wryly. He is giving you room to apologize. To blame your petulance on a mistake or confusion. 

Gil-galad always gives you one. 

“No, I did not lose track of anything, Ereinion,” you said casually, pulling yourself from his hand — that took more willpower than you wanted it to for so early in the evening. You strolled past him toward the large windows facing west. “I’ve decided to make you make me. It will give you something to do with your day. You seem to have too much free time and nothing to do with it.” You leaned against his desk, your hands propping you up, fingers curling around the edge. 

Gil-galad tilted his head, the spark in his eyes at your combative attitude the only sign that confirmed he very, very much would like you to be an absolute brat right now. You’re happy to oblige him. 

“‘Make me make you,’” he repeated softly, taking slow, determined steps toward you. Gil-galad’s frown deepened. “Tell me, clever one,” he commanded softly. “How did you expect me to make you obey?”

Obey was a word he knew excited you very, very much. And it was also a trap. There was never a time this question was not a trap. Sneaky, handsome bastard. 

If you told him what you were thinking — all the wonderful, exciting ways he could “punish” you for being mouthy and make you obey him...he would know you want it. It would not be a punishment if you wanted it. And therefore, he might not give it to you. He would hold back. To teach you not to be mouthy again. 

But… if you told him honestly how much you want him to show you he is in command here, how much you’re being mouthy simply because you want his full focus, then he may decide to give you what he already knows you want. To teach you that he will always take care of you despite how mouthy you get. 

Gil-galad had done both to you before in equal measure. He had shown you, quite thoroughly, that both routes had merits.

Trap.

Gil-galad took another step forward, pinning you to the desk as he loomed over you, hands clasped behind his back. If you both breathed in at the same time, your breasts would brush his chest. Or, at least, against the eight layers of fabric on his chest. His voice was still low, and his motions unhurried. Unconcerned. A patient man dealing with an unruly woman in his spare time between managing a kingdom and a war. 

“Tell me,” Gil-galad commanded again. Not a note of impatience in him, despite the tone of authority. “I remain confused. How did you expect me to make you, a grown woman, obey me? You must have had some semblance of an expectation, certainly, since you seem so eager to test the limits of my patience. What did you hope I would do to you today if you did not obey me?”

You had always had a push and pull with Gil-galad when you played like this. And you could tell that tonight he needed to control more than you needed to be controlled.

You jutted your chin out and took in a large breath, leaning forward so your breasts pushed against the solid muscle of his chest. “Are you unable to come up with ideas on your own, High King? Do you not have a plan? You have had me dressed and dragged to your quarters hours before a ridiculous, boring formal dinner party and you do not yet know what you wish to do with me during that time?” 

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

His face was still smooth as he nodded, absorbing your words as though listening to an ambassador or advisor. Weighing them carefully. You cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say, “well?” 

And then his demeanor flipped and he acted as though he had just described lightning to you and you had never seen it before. “Ah-ha, I see. You have not yet accepted how this evening will proceed for you and you think you can sway me by being irritable. Unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected.” He took two large steps back — you bit back a sigh at the loss of warmth — and turned toward the very large chair in the corner of his study. “You will behave and listen to me tonight, or I will make you.”

He paused and his head cocked, evaluating you. “And we will start now. Will you follow reasonably, or will you force me to direct you through each step as though you are a living doll?”

Not an unattractive prospect. You filed that away for later. 

“Oh, fear not, High King, I would not have you waste your strength on that.” You push yourself off the desk toward him and follow. He sits down very gracefully, layers and layers and layers of gold fabric billowing around him, amusement at your — tired, stale, familiar, intentional, irrational, minor — insults. You stand in front of him, your face expectant. “And?” you ask sarcastically. 

“Please kneel,” he offered gently, as if suggesting you have tea with him. 

You snorted. “Why?” 

“Because I have asked you to.”

“Not enough of a reason. Don’t care if you asked. Don’t care what you want. I am bored and find I would prefer to return to my rooms, if there is nothing else?” You crossed your arms defiantly. Or you hoped defiantly. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, pushing through the purposefully sheer fabric of the dress you chose. 

You could talk a big game at the start, but…

He paused, evaluating you. “If you behave for me today, I will give you a gift. If you do not– ”

That got your interest immediately. “What gift?”

He leaned back into this chair — this throne in his study — you always used. Your eyes flicked down and you saw how hard he was growing under his robe. You licked your lips, slowly, just staring at his cock as though it might hold the answer to that incredibly important question. 

It did. 

“Observant, clever one, even if a tad unfocused. Perhaps you would prefer to sit on my lap instead of kneeling?” Gil-galad paused. “That is the first gift I will give you tonight. You can choose.”

You paused and just stared at him. You could see the outline of his cock under the one (1) layer of clothing left on his lap. Your thoughts were starting to turn syrupy. He was going to take you apart and put you back together tonight. The tone in his voice promised he would. 

And then you were going to have to eat salad and make small talk with ambassadors immediately after he was done with it. 

That made your thoughts even less coherent. Heat coiled in your stomach and you felt a damp trail of wetness start to run down your leg. Assuming he let you both finish before this ridiculous dinner and did not make you wait…

No, he was softer than that. Gil-galad always gives you one. 

He tsked again, dipping his head to meet your eyes, pulling you back to this moment. To him. To his focus. “Which. do. you. choose.” he asked more insistently, allowing impatience to creep into his voice. “If you do not choose, I will choose for you.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Your lap, I guess. That will at least stop you from looming over me as if your height is a bragging point. It is not, by the way.”

Gil-galad smiled softly and simply pointed at his lap, inviting you up. 

You clambered over toward him and hiked up the miles of skirts you wore, flashing him outright and intentionally as you brought the fabric up to your waist. You noticed the small — and extremely interested — change in his face when he noticed you had chosen to go bare under your dress for dinner this evening. 

He accidentally showed you he was eager. So you decided to move slowly. 

Annoyingly slowly. 

You were obeying him. He could not say you did not obey him. But you were not doing it in the way he wanted.

Gil-galad arched an eyebrow at you as you moved slowly, skirts gathered high and legs free as you inched towards him. You took your time to plant your knees on the chair, to move up, to shimmy closer to him — all incredibly unhurried. All incredibly half-naked 

He wanted you in his lap. You wanted you in his lap. So you must make it difficult for you both. That was the point. 

You made sure to scoop up your skirts several times, soft fabric hitting him gently in the face as you gathered it in your arms and settled against him. You did it again and a third time before he emitted a low warning sound from deep in his chest.  

So you lightly rustled your skirts in his face one more time. To test him. He reached for your wrists and gently but firmly lowered your hands, making you let go of the fabric and pulling your wrists to your sides. “Do not do that again,” Gil-galad said firmly. “Behave yourself and sit properly, or I will make you.”

Your legs finally bracketed his thighs and you faced him, on your knees above his lap. You knew you were ruining his robe right now because you were so wet you were dripping down your leg. His fault, really, for wearing golden embroidered fabric when he brought you here to f–

“I said sit,” Gil-galad chided, gently this time, his hands sliding up your thighs to settle on your hips. “You are an uncommonly smart woman, and yet I find myself surprised at how often you fail to follow very clear and simple directions when we are together. Why is that?” 

After a long moment of staring at him, he took the choice from you, pressing you down off your knees so you were in full contact with his lap. His length notched against you with his robe now the only thing between you. If you squirmed right, you could get that fabric to move…

He rocked you against himself once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped you, so you stretched into it, moaning louder and grinding down on his lap.  

Yep. That robe was ruined.

Gil-galad stilled and gently cupped your chin again, forcing your eyes to meet his, his other hand pinning you against his lap. You experimentally tried to rock your hips anyway, but he held you in place with one hand grabbing your hip so you could not grind against him— removing that rutting sensation from you. Limiting your options. 

One handed. Yes, ellons were generally stronger than elleths, but this was ridiculous now, Ereninion, seriously. 

You whimpered in protest. “I am not a plaything,” you managed to say convincingly, despite the deep, gnawing ache between your legs and your head chanting at you let him play with you let him play with you let him let him. “And I’m tired of you thinking I am.”

Gil-galad sighed and let his hand drop from your face. “That is not my question.”

“A pity, for it is the only answer I will give you,” you shoot back.

Tsking loudly, he shook his head.” Unfortunately, your attitude continues to leave us with fewer and fewer options for this evening,” he murmured. Broad hands slid up your sides, splaying against your back as he gently pulled you closer. 

“You claim I act as though I own you as one would a toy…” he paused as if in thought, fingers tapping against you gently. He rolled his hips up to meet your core again and you shuddered. “That I treat you as a plaything? I would disagree strongly with that assertion.” He pulled you closer to finally, finally kiss you deeply, nipping at your bottom lip, pressing you into his chest.

“A plaything?” Gil-galad echoed again, now trailing kisses down your neck. You willed yourself silent because if you moaned now, he would stop on principle. 

Gil-galad pretended to consider something intently as he played with the collar of your decidedly not-quite-opaque gown. He ghosted the back of his hands across your breasts and you nearly flushed with embarrassment at how needy your body was by now without it consulting you. 

Self-traitor, you thought as he cupped your breasts, one in each hand, and murmured appreciatively. His thumbs flicked over your nipples. 

“I understand the problem now. You view plaything as a negative term. I assure you it is not. Perhaps I have not played enough with you lately?” Gil-galad tugged on your nipples now, just this shy of too much, and your eyes fluttered shut. He tugged again hard enough to bring you forward and you rutted against his lap. The heat was building very quickly now and he hadn’t even…. 

“Do you feel you have not been properly played with?” 

You give a sullen sound of agreement and begin squirm as he continued playing with your nipples and giving you absolutely no other stimulation.

“Tell me.” He pinched again sharply before his fingers smoothed out as though brushing away the bite of it. 

“I don’t want to say it.”

“You do not have to, of course. But if you do not, we will not continue.” A harmless threat, as his hands had not stilled and he was roving over your abdomen.

“I feel neglected.” A gush of wetness between your legs as you swallowed thickly, reminding yourself not to end it too soon. 

Gil-galad growled and reached between your bodies to cup you over the skirt, his fingers pressing against you. The fabric was almost too rough against your clit and you gasped, your hands flying to his chest to brace against him. He pressed against you again, pushing a knuckle closer to your clit and sighed, looking down. “So wet you’ve soaked through your dress, but yet you are arguing for the sake of it. Tell me what you want properly or you will not get it,” he ended simply.

You rutted against him again, finding your voice, determined to draw it out. You huffed at him. “Fine. I do not feel played with enough lately. I feel neglected and you have not made time for me.” You started rutting against him out of rhythm. Mercifully, he let you, hands still settling around your hips but no longer forcing you not to move. He started rocking his hips again up to you and you moaned. He stilled immediately. 

Caught. 

“And yet, despite acknowledging you very much wish to be treated as a plaything, as a toy I spend my time to play with, you seem to think you are in charge of this evening. Mm.” The whine you made this time was not an act. “I find your attitude is in dire need of adjustment. Do you agree?”

You challenged him, fire in your eyes because you wanted to tussle with him but still lose. You were also incredibly eager to have his fingers inside you and if you pushed him hard enough he’d take you there faster. 

“I hate repeating myself, but—”

Gil-galad cut you off. “Do you agree you need to adjust your attitude tonight, yes or no?”

You met his question with silence. 

Sharp brown eyes considered you. He rocked his knuckle against your clit through the fabric of your dress again, keeping you aching and focused. 

“Answer me.”

The ache was spreading and your legs felt like jelly in his lap. That thin piece of gold brocade had already been moved aside, and you weren’t sure if you did it or he did it, but you straddled his bare cock now. Valar forgive you, but you ached and you knew a way out. 

It was to not answer him. Yet again. You had now failed to answer him correctly three (3) times in a row. 

Gil-galad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Punishment. Choose one or I will.”

A brave face. More silence. 

Four times – especially when you were this wet – was unprecedented. But you had just done it anyway. You wanted to get there faster and you could tell he did too. 

Gil-galad tsked again, ever patient but irritated. “I did warn you what would happen if you did not listen. And you did not listen.” He could not hide that his cock twitched under you.

Your thoughts felt syrupy again as he gripped your thighs and started rocking you against his length, skin against skin covered in a truly embarrassing amount of your slick. The head of his cock brushing you open. He lifted you up and for a brief, blissful moment you thought he would sink into you, bury himself so deep you could feel it in your chest. 

But no, he would not take you as a “punishment.” 

Smoothly he lifted you up and flipped you so you were sprawled face down and sideways across his lap. 

It seemed he was in the mood to give you the one thing you craved the most, the one he knew made you feel both played with and tended to, without even really asking for it. The one that would finally shut. you. up. You absolutely must not look eager. You froze your limbs — Gil-galad would notice if you were too greedy too fast. You would wait for him. 

Sternly, he began arranging you across his lap as though you weighed nothing. He grabbed your chin, still gentle but his hand had snatched out fast, forcing you to look at him. “You will count as we go. If you lose your place, we will start again. And again. And again. Until I am convinced you are listening to what I say to you.”

His hands explored you now, followed the curve of your ass down to the back of your thighs. One warm, splayed hand rested at the nape of your neck, now pushing your face toward the floor as you half-hung off his lap. You clenched your thighs together and squirmed. 

“Tell me what you heard me say.”

You swallowed again. He started pulling your skirts up, pooling the extra fabric at your waist, his other hand never leaving the nape of your neck. 

“I will not repeat it,” he said firmly, hand now cupping your bare ass, stroking down to your legs like he was petting an animal. “The longer you fight me, the longer you wait. I will finish tonight. Are you so confident I will let you?”

A shuddering breath. “I will count. If I miss, I start again.” You were buckling softly against him, squirming under his grip on both ends of you. 

“A reminder to count politely,” he said softly. “And the current count is ten.”

You cannot stop yourself. “Ten!” you whined. 

“And now it is fifteen,” he said with a frown. “Shall we begin or will you continue to add to your count? Choose carefully, knowing this is not how I hoped we would spend this evening.”

A long pause. The idea of fifteen made you moan, but more importantly, it made you behave. He was giving you what you wanted. You would do the same in return. You ached. Whatever he wanted. 

“Yes, High King. Is there…anything else you would have me do? Beside keep count?”

Gil-galad murmured appreciatively. “I love how hard you try for me, clever one. So good for me once you understand. Call me what you wish — with respect,” he added, a small tug at the nape of your neck. “Request whatever will sate you, but do not demand and do not expect anything from me. Do you understand?”

You answered quickly now as his hand continued to softly ghost over your naked ass, making your skin break out in goosebumps. Your bad behavior got you where you wished most to be. And so now you would be repentant. “Yes, High King.”

His hand lifted off your lower back — you noticed he kept his hand on your neck yesyesyesyes — and he readjusted you so more of your ass was hanging off his leg. You felt his hard cock pressing into your stomach underneath you. He gently rutted up, hips rolling to see if this was where he wanted you.

Gil-galad seemed satisfied. With one more sweep, he ensured your skirts would not fall in his way. Thick fingers pulled and pressed against you, nudging your legs apart. You were already on your toes to keep your balance against him. Now you felt very exposed, cool air fanning against the wet heat of you. 

The first crack was loud and he had not warned you that he would start. The force from it rocked you both forward and down, pressing your ribs against his cock and you heard him bite back a groan. 

The sting on your ass was just right, and he rubbed gently after, soothing away the bite of it. Heat coiled tighter in you and you bucked again. You’d come apart riding his thighs sideways at this rate. 

And it was here that you realized you had been quiet for too long. 

“On—“

“Too late. But do not fret, clever girl. We will start again. Tell me when you are ready to pay attention to me.”

Your eyes closed again and you breathed heavily through your nose. You needed to come down. He had noticed it. He was giving you the chance to decide. 

The heat ebbed, just a moment. One more moment, and then: “Yes, High King. I am ready. Please.”

“Begin counting,” he said again, warning you this time before his hand came down. 

“One, High King.” You thought the panted please that escaped you had been quiet, but Elven hearing was keen.

“Please ‘what’?”

The sound got caught in your throat as he spanked you again, on the other cheek this time, still rubbing away the sting of it. 

“T-two, High King. Please.” You were wanton now, grinding against his lap, bucking and raising your ass in the air begging for contact. Any any any contact he would give you.

“Please, what?”

“Use your ha—“ He spanked you again, aiming for the high part of your thigh. He did not smooth away the pain this time but gripped your flesh, holding you in place.

“Three, High King, please hands your please hands yes.” You weren’t making full sentences.

Hands. Use them. Touch me. What was the count? 

Gil-galad did not strike your ass this time, but gently tapped against you, cupping you in his hand and pushing against you, his fingers brushing against your clit. You let yourself moan at that. Pressure. Thank the Valar. You bit back another moan, and made your limbs still again. 

“Does that count, High King? I wish to keep count correctly for you.” You rocked back against his hand. “I will do it so well for you if you tell me, please.”

He chuckled. His fingers swirled in your slick, coating him and easing the way for him to sink one finger into you, all the way down to his knuckle. The ring he wore was cold and made you flinch. You were so wet that one finger just felt silky instead of filling, but you were happy to be touched at all. 

“Mm, I feel generous tonight, clever one. You do seem truly repentant for your behavior earlier. Are you?” he asked softly, twisting his finger inside you. 

“Yes, High King.” You tried to rock back on his hand. You were rutting like an animal and the only reason you had not fallen off of him was the counterweight of his hand on your neck, pressing you down in the other direction while you greedily thrust into thin air. 

“Good girl. Then you may count it.”

Was it four or five? Nothing mattered as long as he kept twisting his finger. That cold ring. Five?

“Ah and now you are so cockdrunk you lost count. I will help. It is four.”

“Fou—fuhhhh.”

He added another finger without warning. Your eyes rolled back and you inhaled sharply. 

“Five, High King. Could I please have more of your time this week? I was wrong to be so rude. Let me make it ri—“ 

He pulled his fingers out and smacked your ass again, just as hard as the first time, and did the same soothing motion with his hand. You could feel your own slick now, cooling against your skin, transferred from his fingers. His hand slid down your ass again, so soft, until he came to your core again. He slid a hand between your legs and flicked a lazy finger over your clit. You jumped in his hands and moaned again. 

“Focus,” he reminded you softly. “What is the count?”

Your brow furrowed. “S-six, High King. Let me.” Six? Six. You rocked against him again and you could feel how heavy his cock felt underneath you. He was holding back quite a bit to give you this.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Let you what? You are not speaking in full sentences, I’m afraid. I do not follow you.” He smacked your ass again, overlapping with one of the others, and you fought to lift your head from the sting and pleasure of it. His hand kept your neck down and he moved his hand from your ass quickly, leaving you to sting and squirm. 

“Seven. High King, let me taste you?”

He spanked you again, softer this time, and spent longer kneading your flesh after. “Clever one,” he said firmly, hand pressing on your upper back now. “Be more clever. What do you want?”

“Eight, High King,” you said crisply, demanding yourself to focus, refusing now to be distracted. He would start over if you didn’t focus. “Let me suck your cock, please.” 

You felt him twitch under you. He paused for a moment, brown eyes searching your face after he had once again grabbed your chin. He was considering it. You might be able to talk him into it. 

You started babbling. What was happening was not happening fast enough and all the thoughts in your brain had turned to liquid. “Or you can take me however you wish or I will get on all fours or—“

“After ten,” he promised, fingers grazing softly against your face. “Will you take two more for me? I will lower your punishment to ten if you promise to listen. And promise that you will not ignore my summons again.”

You nodded eagerly, yes yes to whatever he wanted. He had broken you now, and quickly, too, compared to your regular play —  and the look in his eyes told him he knew it. He looked victorious. 

You were unprepared, then, for the next sharp crack hitting your ass. He put just the right amount of heft in this one that your body rocked back and forth for a moment after. 

“Nine.” It came out as a moan. 

He chuckled. “And we’ve already dropped my title. Impertinent.”

Before you could answer, his thick fingers found you again, filling you with a delicious stretch. He curled his fingers down and your legs started jumping against his hand. You are not in control of that motion. It is all of it too much and not enough and your body does not know which sensation to chase first. 

“Ten,” you whispered, so close now to your own crest. You were on a knife’s edge and it took a lot of focus to not simply orgasm now and deal with whatever irritation it caused in him later. 

He truly did always give you one more chance than he should. 

“Was that ten?” Gil-galad asked teasingly. “How time flies,” he smiled. “I suppose we will count that as ten.” 

His fingers kept working inside you, pulling you higher. His other hand setted in the small of your lower back, allowing him to guide you back against his fingers while your body still pressed against his cock. “Would you like to come? You have done so well. I will take care of you, if you wish. I will let you come once for me.” 

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” you managed to chant out. So close. You fought between snapping your legs closed and just falling forward to raise your ass in the air and let him take you from behind while you were on the floor. 

Instead he slid his other hand under you, pressing against you from below, as his fingers stroked firmly. Your hips jerked again – the pads of his fingers were just this side of too rough – and suddenly the ache inside you twisted and came apart. You started to bite against his leg to muffle your sounds, but he made a warning growl in his chest, so you let yourself cry out as you came in white hot waves, rocking, pinned between his hands. 

You panted, chest heaving as you turned into jelly in his lap, your arms and legs limp. If not for him pinning you up, you would have slid to the floor.

Your thoughts were still a syrupy jumble, but you felt satisfied. You knew the night was not over, but at least he let you have one ☝️. 

At least he gave you the joy of that, before the salad plates and dinner conversation with men and women you do not care to meet.

After your breathing returned to normal, he lifted you out of his lap and set you on your feet, rising smoothly to stand next to you. Your legs were not quite up to the task of holding your weight, so he held you closely. “Go to the bedroom,” he said softly as he adjusted your dress over your shoulders. “We will continue there. That was the first of many gifts I will give you tonight if you heed me.”

Your brow creased. Thoughts were still coming slowly, but both of you should not have time for that. Especially since you both needed to dress again – his robe was still ruined. And yours was, too, now. “Dinner,” you said, confusion in your tone. You had not exactly looked at a clock while he was fingering you but surely…“Don’t we have to go to a formal dinner, Erienion? I do not want to go. That is what started this.”

Gil-galad laughed richly. “Any dinner with a king is a formal dinner. We have nowhere to be tonight but with each other.” His arms slid around your waist and you could feel how hard he still was against your thigh. 

You blinked up at him and he smiled back. “Really? No formal dinner?”

His sharp brown eyes flicked over your face and he sighed, pulling back from you slightly to point toward the bed. “No formal dinner. And this is why it is always much easier if you simply listen to me and come to me when I call you…You would be made aware of these facts much earlier if you were less petulant.”

So you had all night together. He planned that from the start.

Sneaky. Handsome. Bastard.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and stopped moving. Gil-galad tugged on your wrist one (1) time. “The bed, melethnín,” he rumbled gently.

You say it before you can stop yourself.

“No. Make me.”

// Author's Notes: "elleth" and "ellon" are just elven terms for females and males. The last name he calls her, melethnín, means "my love." I think. If it doesn't, don't come for me, it's what I mean to say and you get the vibe. Clearly accurate Quenya translations were not -- not -- the point of this.

//

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

[themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism]

Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 1: Rome

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: It took about a hundred years after the death of Christ for Christianity to start gaining popularity in the Roman Empire. At around 100 AD the first congregations secretly started meeting in basements and had to be very subtle with their worship. Being Christian at this time was a crime; they refused to pay the federal taxes that exalted the emperor as a god. At this point, after the Roman Emperor died, the Senate would vote to either add them to the pantheon or erase their legacy from public consciousness. Some emperors weren't very lucky but most of them got deified. The Christian citizens of Rome refused to offer sacrifices to the emperor because it broke the first of the Ten Commandments, "Thou shalt not have no other gods before me." There isn't much Christian art from this time, and they were definitely the religious minority.

Skip forward to 306 AD, there's yet another civil war over the throne of the Empire. The two men fighting for it were Constantine I and Maxentius. In addition to battles, the two of them funded public projects to gain the approval of the people. They both built baths, aqueducts, and basilicas. Basilicas were the Roman equivalent of city halls: the local government operated out of them, trials and town meetings were held there, and there were small niches in the walls dedicated to different gods. Maxentius built the basilica on the left (below) and Constantine built the one on the right (below). Constatine's basilica, Aula Palatina, is still the largest remaining Roman structure that's a single room.

Maxentius' basilica was bigger but in 310 AD Constatine beat him and took the throne, partly because of the support he got from the Christian citizens. In 312 AD, Constatine converted to Christianity and enacted the Edict of Milan which made Christianity legal.

But look at Aula Palatina. It looks like our modern idea of a church. It has rows of benches, which would've been used for town meetings, and a semicircular niche at the end called an apse. In a Christian church, the apse is where the altar goes just like the niches in the Roman Pagan basilicas where different gods would be worshiped. Constantine didn't change the design from a Pagan basilica at all --because why fix what isn't broken? -- and just placed it into a Christian context.

For the next hundred years, Roman citizens started to mix Christian and Pagan imagery.

Families would bury both Christian and Pagan members in the same catacomb and decorated it accordingly. The fresco below (320-340 AD) is from the Catacombs of Priscilla (200-400 AD). It has an image of Christ as the Good Shepard in the middle, but the birds along the outside represent the four seasons; an image that featured commonly in Pagan catacomb frescos. Christ's clothing and contrapposto posing is also reminiscent of Pagan statues, particularly of the god Apollo.

The fresco on the left (below) from the Catacombs of Saints Marcellinus and Peter (~300 AD), is visually similar to the last one fresco we looked at. Christ is in the middle and around him are the four Evangelists and Bible stories like Jonah and the whale. In the four corners again, there are personifications of the four seasons. Elsewhere in the Catacomb, there's a depiction of Christ as Orpheus (right, below), again combining these Pagan and Christian icons. In the Bible, it says that Christ will tame all the wild animals, and the artist is likening that to the Roman Pagan story of Orpheus taming animals with his music.

If you look at the middle of this complex fresco on the left (below) from the Catacomb of Commodilla (100-800 AD), it has a depiction of Jesus and three of the apostles dressed like Roman senators (300-400 AD). On the right is a depiction of St. Paul as a Roman philosopher from the same Catacomb.

But this interest in combining artistic traditions extended to the sarcophagi that people were buried in too. Roman Pagans usually opted to be cremated rather than buried but when they did choose to be buried, they liked to carve scenes of their gods into their sarcophagi. Roman Christians, who almost always chose to be buried, did the same. The sarcophagus on the left (below) belonged to a woman named Arria (b.~350 -- d.~400 AD) and depicts a story about the Roman Pagan moon goddess Selene. The one on the right (below) belonged to a Senator named Junius Bassus (b. 317 -- d.359 AD) depicts difference scenes from the Bible like Adam and Eve and Jesus entering Jerusalem. Do you see the visual similarities? Both sarcophagi are also carved from marble.

The mosaic below is perhaps the best example of how Christian and Pagan imagery and theologies were mixed. It used to be the floor in a wealthy Roman's villa and was found in Hinton St Mary, Dorset, England; it's the furthest north Roman mosaic ever found. The bottom panel depicts a beardless Christ with a chi-rho behind his head. (The chi-rho, XP, came from the first two letters of Christ's name in Latin. It's a Christian symbol that's still used to denote that a figure is Christ.) On either side of him is a pomegranate. Pomegranates were sacred to the goddess Persephone; Roman Pagan religion taught that she went down to the Underworld for half the year and then up to the mortal world for half the year, fueling the changing seasons. Persephone and Christ are both gods that went to the afterlife and then came back to bring new life to humans; it's not hard to see how they got conflated on this mosaic. In the corners around Christ there are four men. Their imagery is reminiscent of both the four Evangelists and the gods of the four winds, again doubling Pagan and Christian imagery. In the upper panel, there's a scene portraying the Pagan story of Bellerophon spearing the Chimæra while flying on Pegasus. That story is frequently understood to be the "Good triumphing over Evil" story archetype, much like the story of Christ triumphing over death/sin is. Whoever owned this villa literally mixing both the visual and theological elements of both Paganism and Christianity.

In the late 300s, the Emperors (who were all Christian now) started introducing laws that made it harder for Pagans to practice. They banned animal sacrifices eventually Christianity was officially declared the religion of Rome in the late 400s. However, the enforcement of these laws wasn't applied very well and people continued to practice Roman Paganism until the fall of the Empire.

But even after the fall of Rome, Roman Pagan imagery persisted in a Christian context. In the West, Emperor Charlemagne of the Holy Roman Empire, which was Christian, purposely copied the imagery of the Roman Emperors. He used equestrian statues and coinage of him wearing a Roman laurel to demonstrate his power. The top two images below are of the Chrisitan Emperor Charlemagne and the bottom two are of the Pagan Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

In the East, the early Byzantine Empire were still interested in Roman drapery and architecture. Below is Archangel Michael (left) as well as Emperor Justinian and Theodora (right) preparing the Eucharist. Both images display Roman architecture and drapery. Byzantine would eventually move away from Roman influences but in its early days, they were definitely inspired by it.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!

Further readings:

The Deification of Roman Emperors (Chapter 4) - Invented History, Fabricated Power

BBC - History - Ancient History in depth: Roman Religion GalleryThe Paleochristian Art of the Roman Catacombs ~ Liturgical Arts Journal

Chi Rho - Wikipedia

History of Christianity - Wikipedia

Anglicanism: a Gift in Christ – Part 1: An Ancient Church

Constantine the Great - Wikipedia

Maxentius - Wikipedia

Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus - Wikipedia

Marble sarcophagus with the myth of Selene and Endymion | Roman | Severan | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Smarthistory – Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius

Persecution of pagans in the late Roman Empire - Wikipedia

Equestrian statuette of Charlemagne - Wikipedia

Smarthistory – San Vitale and the Justinian and Theodora Mosaics

ARH1000 Early Christian & Byzantine Art.pdf | Free Download

The image of Christ in Late Antiquity | Semantic Scholar

mosaic floor | British Museum

[edenfenixblogs]

I think that I’ve realized one of the big reasons that antisemites are so anti-Israel—I mean, aside from it being a state where a lot of Jews are.

Israel is a state that protects Jews. It also does a lot of bad things under the Likud government. And it also harms Jews that get in the way of the Likud government. But none of that matters to antisemites.

Because a state is an institution. And the left has been very clear that it’s all about criticizing institutions.

And in the absence of a governing religious body to criticize, the Israeli state is all the leftist antisemites have to criticize.

They can’t seem to fathom that the leadership of Israel is not in anyway synonymous with a religious institution. They cannot seem to fathom that the Likud government isn’t in any way representative of Jewish people as a whole—and not even of Israelis as a whole! (Once again, Israel is a parliamentary system. It’s about who has the largest proportion of votes, not a majority) and that Jews in Israel as well as non-Jews in Israel have a say in who to vote for and often strongly oppose Likud and Netanyahu.

It’s like a whole chunk of otherwise progressive people have been waiting for a way to criticize all Jews by attacking some institution they think speaks for us.

They cannot fathom that we are literally just a small ethnic group with half of our number in one location and would very much like for us and for them to not be victims of violence. That’s the uniting principle.

They’ve continually demonstrated how little they know and understand about Judaism, Jewish culture, and Jewish history.

I genuinely do not know if they’re aware that there’s no supreme Jewish council or whatever. There’s no Jewish version of the Grand Imam, Grand Ayatollah, Dalai Lama, Celestial Master, or Head/President of the Church.

We don’t even have a main synagogue from which edicts or traditions flow. We did have one. The Wall in Israel was our main institution. But colonizers and invaders destroyed it. And other religions built their institutions on top of it. And the religious governing body of Jews fell apart thousands of years ago.

…so the only thing that holds us together is each other. Rabbis don’t answer to some central authority. We hold traditions together through culture and traditions and connection to our land of origin, like many our even most other indigenous cultures.

But, because there is one (1) place on the entire planet where Jews are a majority of the population and not a minority, suddenly vicious attacks on the character of Jews everywhere are fair game as long as antisemites pretend they are talking about “Israel.” But they aren’t talking about the State of Israel. Because they get mad whenever we tell them to please specify the current government and the Likud party, because they are the ones responsible for carrying out the needless violence.

But they won’t do that. They seem to believe that there is some uniting religious force that exists in the Israeli government. And they seem to think that we are all united by this religious directive of “Zionism.”

That’s the only way any of their criticisms make sense logically. They don’t see themselves as attacking actual humans. They see themselves as attacking institutions. And any Jew who disagrees with them? Well they are just bastards supporting the institution.

But…there is no supreme Jewish institution. It doesn’t exist. It doesn’t exist because they destroyed those institutions.

They’re making themselves feel good by thinking attacking Jews is somehow helping free Palestine. But it’s just attacking Jews.

It’s like a weird continuation of supercessionism. They’re projecting their religious structure onto a religion that is fundamentally incompatible with that structure.

[dailyrothko]

Do you have any recommendations for books with large, high quality photos of Rothko's work? I'd love to be able to see some outside the small confines of a computer monitor/phone screen but can't exactly afford a visit to the chapel

Hi

If you're on Instagram, I have a short video about this but I will tell you basically here.

The best reproductions by far are from the recent books published in the last year or two. This has to do with the Rothko family making things available and the curation of large exhibits.

The smallest book in size is the Mark Rothko: Paintings on Paper by Adam Greenhalgh is 8 3/4 by 10 3/4. This book covers just the works from the paper show (Nearly 100) and a bunch of interesting history of his work in this medium. It's a great book and the size seems just fine given that the paintings on paper are smaller anyway. It's worth having this and the book not high priced, but you're getting a sharply focused aspect of Rothko's work rather than all the famous ones. It's a lovely book though. The scans are excellent and it's likely to give you a different perspective on his work.

The Next book is the Louis Vuitton Foundation book that accompanied the show. It's physically the largest book, roughly 11.42 by 13. 32 inches. The size here helps the bigger works some of which are even foldouts. You can see the great devotion to the task in all of these books but this book contains the most historical stuff and anecdotes and is full of interesting material. The show was curated by Susan Page and Christopher Rothko and you can see a lot of effort went into it. This is the most complete of the books, in terms of a career retrospective and is fascinating. It's 312 pages, a big, heavy book. Scans are again very good. If you don't much about Rothko this is probably the book for you, but one could say in centers most on his big oil on canvas works.

The final book is the Rizzoli "Rothko book" credited to his children Kate and Christopher. This is over 400 pages and the most expensive book but it's a very personal and unique document. Rather than the usual history it has essays including one from Hiroshi Sugimoto, that I really enjoyed. The paintings are a mix, more of a selected group as the book doesn't cover a particular show. The scans here might be the best (even though all the books have really great scans) because they really reveal aspects of the paintings that are different than what we are used to seeing all the time. They reveal more subtly. Some paintings are absolutely revelatory, so much so that I use this book as my reference for how other scans reproduce color. This is a dodgy thing because color depends on light and scans are somewhat of an artistic endeavor. This book is a trifle less wide than the Vuitton book but it's big and has a nice slipcase too.

I have seen in person many of the paintings in these books and occasionally I "Disagree" a little with a scan here and there but it's a minor quibble as Rothko just looks different in different places. There's really a lot of work and love in all of these and they all are so much better than what we have seen before it would be hard to go wrong with any of them. These are not cheap calendar type repos, a great amount of time and effort went into all of them.

If you have further questions I am happy to help.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Peace & Quiet (poly!SatoSugu x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) 

“How's this for relaxation, hm?” he teases. “Just what you needed, right?” 

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you realize peace and quiet aren’t ideal with your two noisy ass (yet extremely attractive) coworkers renting out the same Airbnb as you while visiting the hot springs on a business trip. But lucky for you, they know another way to help you relax.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Black-coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Marijuana Use; Truth or Dare; Skinny Dipping; Coworkers to Lovers; Poly Romance; Exhibitionism; Mutual Oral; Cum Eating; Dirty Talk; Spanking; Spitting; Facefucking; Unprotected PIV Sex; Mild Degradation; Clit Play; Spitroast; Creampie; Throatpie; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: In honor of JJK S2 dropping next week, I decided to give my favorite idiot duo some love. And if I'm not uploading as regularly it's cuz I'm on a cruise lol. Enjoy! -Jazz 🩷🩷🩷

Read on AO3 here!

********

You audibly sigh as you sink further into the deep depths of the comfortable, heated water.

Nothing but the sound of bubbling water and chirping birds fills the summer air around you. The shaded trees hanging above you allow you shade from the summer sun’s rays peeking through the green leaves, making the warm water feel even better when it isn’t below the bright rays of the sun.

You loop your arms over a nearby rock and lie your head against the wet surface. ‘Paradise,’ you think with a content smile. 

You’ll have to thank your company again for picking such a great spot for your Airbnb. It isn’t that close to the new city you’re in, but close enough that the drive there isn’t exhausting. It’s pretty quiet and the trees surrounding the area allow you just enough privacy to tan naked if you wanted to. But you’d die before you’d do something like that.

You still can’t believe you were picked for such an amazing opportunity! You’ve always wanted to go on a business trip for your job ever since they started doing raffles. You’ve been working with your company, one of the largest corporate tech companies in Japan, for five years now, so you hoped that your boss would see your skills and work ethic to allow you the responsibility to travel.

Really, it was mostly because you were desperate to get out of your home for a while, whether it was a local trip or one overseas. You’ve heard of trips in the U.S. and some in the U.K. and only dreamed of traveling there. When your boss announced to you a month ago that you were chosen for the business trip to a local career convention for the next four days, you were ecstatic. You immediately began packing as soon as you got home. 

Your boss and his team wanted to ensure that you were absolutely and completely comfortable during your stay for the remainder of your business trip. They paid for everything: the Airbnb you’ll be staying in for the next three days; the train ticket; the food stocked up in the freezer and fridge; and the prepaid Visa card loaded with $550 that will allow you to buy whatever you wish and not have to constantly put your own money down.

So far, you were living. The schedule you currently had consisted of trips to the convention center in the city from 11 PM to 3 PM to talk to potential buyers, clients, and hires about the company. After 3 PM, you were free to do whatever you wanted. Not to mention you’re being paid $35 an hour, even for the hours you weren’t working! You couldn’t have asked for a better trip. You hit the fucking jackpot. 

“Yo, Geto!” a familiar voice annoyingly yells from inside the house. “Where’d the fuck you put my shorts? I told you don’t move my shit!”

You heavily sigh, annoyed. Well, you almost hit the jackpot. Take away the two inside that you’re forced to work with this week and you would’ve been perfect. “I told you, I don’t have your fuckin’ shorts, Gojo,” another voice, deeper than the other, growled. “Try lookin’ outside. You might’ve hung ‘em up.” 

“Oh, no,” you groan, wishing neither one of them would come outside and ruin your “me time”. You haven’t had much time to yourself since you got here since you’ve been preparing for presentations at the convention fair and sitting in on meetings with your boss wanting to check up on you. Plus, with them constantly wandering throughout the house, you’ve been less comfortable exploring the Airbnb. 

Just your luck, both of them come waltzing out of the sliding door that leads to the backyard and the home’s personal hot springs where you currently sit. “I told you they’re not– oh, look, Geto! She finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

Gojo’s teasing pisses you off for some reason, but you refuse to give in and look at him. It isn’t worth it. They aren’t worth it. “C’mon, ‘Toru, leave her alone,” Geto grumbles. “You can clearly see she’s relaxing.” 

“And I can hear you,” you sharply reply. “You two aren’t very discreet. Or quiet.” You slowly open your eyes to regard your two coworkers, but you instantly regret it. Though they are both extremely annoying with their loud mouths and disregard for relaxation time, what makes them even more annoying is how fucking fine they are. 

First, there’s Gojo Satoru. Cocky, arrogant, and too easy-going for your liking. He is incredibly smart to have gotten the job he does (he’s in a department much higher than yours), but he barely does his work and takes lunch breaks way longer than he’s supposed to, which he also tries to get you to go on. He’s also a huge flirt. It gets annoying watching him flirt with every single girl that walks into your department from your cubicle, his charm coming off dickish to you. The guy is a slut! He knows exactly how to get a woman with his silver hair, Colgate smile, and intense blue eyes. 

And then there’s Geto Suguru. He is the complete opposite of Gojo, but he is equally as arrogant and annoying. Though you’ve never seen him flirt in front of you, he comes off as a know-it-all during meetings and like he’s much better than everyone, including the higher-ups. He is just as handsome as Gojo with his long, black locks that he often wears in buns and ponytails, strong jaw, and deep, black eyes. 

You’ve had the displeasure of sitting with both Gojo and Geto during meetings and working with them on a few projects throughout the years but with other people. This is the first time you’ve been assigned to work with them one-on-two. Not to mention being in the same space as them for longer than a day.

The first day you came here was manageable since you sat in a different seat than them on the train and most of the day was spent at the convention center. The night it was over, you made a beeline for your bedroom and never came back out. It was good that you did too because those two are so fucking loud. If it wasn’t them arguing, it was them playing music. If it wasn���t music, it was the TV playing too loud. 

You know you can’t spend the rest of the trip like that. But them being so damn hot doesn’t make your situation any better. They’re both tall, standing at six foot something, and have their own set of muscles. While Gojo is a bit slimmer and sinewy with muscle, Geto is much thicker in terms of body mass and muscle with broad shoulders and a six-pack you could bake cookies on.

The truth is that you’re very attractive to them. How could you not be? You just adore big men! And everything about them is big to you: big hands, big feet, big everything. You’ve had to force yourself to look away from their crotches many times when you’ve caught them in their tight-ass work slacks. Even at your height in heels, they stand a head taller than you which intensely turns you on. 

But you’ll never tell them that or even allude to it. You’ve watched many of your female coworkers flirt with them, give them their cake, and then get shot down later. You don’t need that kind of distraction or drama in your life. You made a vow to yourself to stay away from dating and fucking coworkers. ‘Just stick to your work,’ you’ve told yourself. ‘Just stick to your goals.’

No matter how much Gojo’s laugh makes your heart pound. No matter how badly you want to feel Geto’s big arms wrapped around you. No matter how much you want to feel their hands and lips all over your body. You can’t do it. You have too much to lose fooling around with men like them. 

“Sorry to bother you,” Geto says, actually sounding sorry about it, “but Gojo just left his shorts and he won’t shut up about ‘em.” He looks mildly annoyed while Gojo is panicking. “Have you seen ‘em?” he urgently asks. “They’re Calvin Klein? Red?” 

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” you deadpan, “but there is a washer machine in the basement. Maybe you left ‘em there.” Gojo whines, running his hands down his face. “They’re the only good ones I bought! The other pair is too tight on me.” You make a noise of disgust, pushing away the thought of Gojo in some tight-ass swim trunks, the outline of his bulge on display. “I didn’t need to know that.” 

Geto hides a laugh while Gojo gives you a glare. “Oh, so sorry,” he mockingly says. “What are you doin’ out and about anyway? You were in your room all day before when we weren’t working.”

You glare back at him, not at all liking his tone. And mostly, because he’s right: as soon as you were done at the fair, you hid in your room, unpacked, and chowed down on the complementary snacks and wine stored in your room all afternoon. When the evening finally came, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen while Gojo and Geto played pool in the basement and grabbed yourself a slice of the pizza they ordered earlier that day, and the snacks and water bottles stored in the fridge. 

“That’s none of your business,” you curtly say to him, “but I was tired. My bed was too comfortable to leave.” Gojo hums in agreement. “I feel that,” he sighs. “Whoever decided to put that mattress in my room needs either get their dick sucked or their pussy eaten.” You scoff in disgust to yourself, shaking your head at his brazenness. “By you?” Ghetto asks, raising an eyebrow at his friend. 

“With the right amount of whiskey is me, sure!” Gojo laughs, wiggling his silver eyebrows at him. Geto shoves him hard, earning another goofy laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he scoffs before turning back to you still in the heated water. “Look, we’ll leave you alone so you can enjoy yourself. Gojo was supposed to help me cook dinner like he was promised he would last night.” He side-eyes his friend. “That’s why I had to order pizza.” 

“I told you I was unpacking!” Gojo argues, but Geto’s fixed stare never fades. You attempt to not laugh by biting your lip, humored by their dynamic. Gojo is like the chaotic younger brother while Geto reminds you of a more dignified and mature older brother.

“Fine,” Gojo groans, craning his neck back, “but you’d better help me find these shorts. And I’m not cuttin’ no vegetables either.” 

He purposely bumps Geto’s hip as he walks back into the house, keeping the sliding door open as he does. Geto turns to you, his facial expression unreadable and slightly offputting due to the fact that you can’t identify it. Why does he have to be so goddamn mysterious? “Enjoy yourself,” he says before disappearing back inside the house, shutting the door behind him. 

“Thanks,” you quietly say to yourself. You are now finally left alone to your own devices, which is what you wanted all along…right?

When the sound of chirping birds and rustling trees comes back to you, you decide that yes, you do want this. A few minutes after taking a long soak, you grow tired of the water and are in need of some sun. You pull yourself out of the hot springs and swipe your bikini off of the lounge chair sitting by the brink where you have your tote bag. 

Making sure the guys aren’t around, you change and lay a towel out on the chair before settling down, lying back, and laying your sunglasses on your eyes. Then you reach for your MacBook Air and balance it on your knees, proceeding to get some work done in time for tomorrow. You also take a few sips of the wine you poured for yourself earlier until the entire glass is empty. 

Your productivity doesn’t last for long. The sounds of nature are so peaceful and pretty and the wine is so strong that you find yourself drifting off to sleep. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, your laptop still in your lap. The sun warms your face and the water continues to bubble, serving as some amazing ambiance for you.

It is a short nap, however; one that you’re not too happy about. You are rudely awakened half an hour later by the music blasting from inside the house, the bass jumping and pounding in your ears. Irritation flares within you as you sit up, tearing the sunglasses off your face. 

‘These two,’ you think, annoyed and angered. These emotions only increase when you hear Gojo’s shrill laughter over the music. Don’t they have any kind of sense or respect? 

“Oh, my Gooood!” you growl, your frustration reaching astronomical heights. You toss your laptop off of you and into the seat as you get up and storm over to the house. You pound on the glass door with your hand before yanking it open, the music nearly destroying your eardrums. “Would you turn that fuckin’ shit down?!” you holler into the living room. “I’m tryin’ to fuckin’ sleep here! Goddamn!” 

You’re so angry that you don’t even see Gojo and Geto’s shocked expressions as they crouch near the stereo near the TV, trying in vain to fix the volume. Before they can say anything, you slam the door shut and storm back over to your chair where you dig into your bag for your earbuds. Once you find them, you shove them in your ears, turn up the Jhene Aiko song you had paused from the train ride, and desperately try to get your sleep back. 

Surprisingly enough, you do, but only because the music coming from the house is successfully cut off. You don’t realize it though because you’re knocked out. When Gojo finds you, you’re sprawled out on the lounge chair in your white bikini, mouth open and shades on. You don’t realize what he’s doing to you until you feel his hand brush your leg.

You startle awake, finding him standing above you like a handsome eclipse. You flinch at his touch, alarmed and confused. “W-What are you–” 

“Relax, princess,” he chuckles. “I was just puttin’ this on you so you weren’t layin’ here in your bikini.” He nods down at the towel he placed on your body. “You never know what kind of animals or creeps are sneakin’ around here.”

He juts his chin towards the trees and brush that stretch for miles, giving way to nothing but wilderness. You realize now that you fell asleep in your bikini, completely exposed to anyone…including your coworkers. “Geto is finished dinner,” Gojo says, ignorant to your utter embarrassment as you clutch the towel to your body. “We got steak, steamed vegetables, and brown rice if you want some.” 

He is shrouded in darkness, similar to the trees surrounding you as the sun sets on the summer day. The heat has subsided somewhat but the sticky humidity is still in the air. The sky above is painted with twilight and cotton candy clouds that stretch across the blue canvas. How long have you been asleep?

You are speechless, just staring at Gojo and wondering what the hell is happening. “T-That’s okay,” you softly stammer. “I’m gonna eat a little later.” He shrugs, stretching his muscled arms over his head. “Suit yourself. By the way, sorry about the music.” 

You continue to stare up at him blankly. “Huh?” you dumbly ask, your mind still hazy from your nap. 

He snickers at you, making you flush even more. “The music from earlier,” he clarifies. “We tried turnin’ it down, but the stereo broke. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound that mad…or be that loud.”

He adverts his eyes from yours as if he’s ashamed to look at you. It confuses you. Does he feel bad or something? While he certainly should because he ruined your relaxation time, you can’t help but feel a strange tug in your stomach at the sight of his eyes–so downtrodden and void of that usual glint in them.

“Anyway!” he exclaims, putting on a smile. “I’ll tell Geto to save you a plate.” He leaves you sitting there before you can say even say anything. Once he’s gone, you sit back in your chair and bring the towel up to your chin. 

“Dammit,” you sigh, feeling guilt twist in your gut. Maybe you were a little too harsh earlier. After all, you were drinking and that heavily influences your behavior. You know you’ve been standoffish and cold to both of your coworkers this entire trip, and yet despite that, Gojo still came out to make sure you were okay and Geto still fixed you a plate. Maybe you could give some of that kindness back. 

After swallowing your pride, you wrap yourself in the towel to cover your body, gather your things into your bag, and venture into the house to find your coworkers. As soon as you hear Gojo’s big ass mouth, you find them in the beautifully-decorated kitchen with its black granite counters and hardwood floors.

Geto stands at the stove with his back to you, his muscles flexing beneath his black tee, while Gojo sits at the kitchen island chomping down on his steak in his Crocs and white crop top that exposes his hard abs. You do your best to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach at the sight of them.

“Hey,” you call from the threshold of the kitchen. They instantly stop what they’re doing to look at you, looking almost shocked that you’re standing in front of them. Nervously, you fiddle with the strap to your bag. “Um…the water is really nice if you two wanna go in. I’m finished and just doin’ work if you want any room.” 

Gojo practically drops his fork. “Hot springs just for us?” he excitedly says. “Fuck yes! I’ve been waiting to get a taste of this.” Geto turns and leans against the edge of the counter, revealing the apron he’s wearing. It only makes him sexier to you. “Same here. I was so exhausted after yesterday that I never got a chance to. I was hopin’ to get some time today since the fair was so early this morning.” 

“Now I really have to look for these shorts,” Gojo announces before jumping out of his seat and zooming past you for the stairs. You watch him, quietly giggling to yourself. When you turn back to Geto, he’s already staring at you. “So you’re okay with us bein’ out there with you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. 

The question perplexes you. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, confused. He crosses his big arms over his broad chest, making your throat go dry. “Well, you just act like you don’t wanna be bothered by us. I mean, don’t get it twisted: I like alone time, too, especially in a place like this.” His words make the guilt churning in your stomach even worse. Have you been making them feel like this the entire time you’ve been here?

‘Well, of course, stupid!’ your subconscious screams at you. ‘You barely talk to them or hang out with them, even when they’re in the same room as you! What did you expect?’

You would’ve thought that them taking a hint would make you feel accomplished, but all it does is make you feel weird. And not in a good way. Realizing you’ve been silent for too long, you scramble to answer Geto. “I was gonna go to my room to make a call,” you lie. “And it’s not that I don’t wanna be bothered by you guys, but…” 

Your brain does mental gymnastics trying to find a logical explanation for your behavior towards them: ‘Because I’m introverted’? ‘Because I’m shy’? ‘Because I’m sexually attracted to you both and being around you makes me wanna tear off your clothes and shove your dicks in my face?’ 

Gojo’s hard footsteps coming tumbling down the steps again, so hard that the hardwood steps creak. “I found my shorts!” he happily announces, presenting his red swim trunks to you and Geto. At the sight of you standing in the kitchen, his smile fades. “Uh…am I interrupting somethin’?” 

Geto glances at you before looking back at his clueless friend. “Nah,” he immediately replies. “We were just talkin’ about the water. Supposedly, its minerals strip you of all the dirt in your pores.” He walks across the threshold of the kitchen to walk past you, giving you a whiff of his cologne and the spicy scent of cinnamon. It makes you clench your thighs together.

As he walks up to Geto, he gives him a smirk. “You could use a dip,” he chuckles before running out to the hot springs with Gojo right behind him, calling him all kinds of bitches and hoes. Being left alone in the house allows you to breathe and you lean against the kitchen wall, calming your pounding heart. ‘Why do they have to be so goddamn fine?’ you think in anguish. 

Once you compose yourself, you take the plate Geto wrapped in foil from the stove and slink into your bedroom to eat. The food is orgasm-worthy, to say the least. The steak is the right amount of juicy and tender to your liking, the vegetables are crisp, and the rice is warm and hearty.

Geto is an incredible cook. And he’s incredibly sweet. What gets you is the fact that he saved a plate for you despite you not sparing him so much as a glance for the past two days you’ve been here. Neither one of your coworkers is half bad, you realize when you finish your dinner. Though they’re loud and chaotic, they’re also very sweet and personable. 

It is this fact that gives you the courage to swallow your pride and return to the hot springs when you hear Gojo and Geto chatting and splashing about outside your window. You make sure your towel is wrapped tight around your body before you take a deep breath and venture back downstairs to the backyard.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer sexiness that is currently occupying the hot springs in the set of two. All you see are pecs, abs, and muscles on muscles along with a few scatterings of tattoos on tanned skin dripping with water. Gojo has a few tattoos you can see on his collarbone, neck, and lower hipbone while Geto only has one–a large, red dragon on his back that curls over his shoulder blades. 

With the way the steam rises from the water to surround your coworkers, it reminds you of a raunchy romance book cover that you see in airports and grocery stores. You’re already considering this to be a bad idea with how reactive your body is to them–your heartbeat begins to accelerate; your body temperature rises; your pussy jumps excitedly. 

But it’s too late to turn around and go inside when Gojo notices you standing there, a glass of wine in his hand. “Oh, and she returns!” he teases, his crystal blue eyes peering up at you from over the steam. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?” Geto, settled on the rocks with his big feet in the water, rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. You want a puff?” You then notice the blunt settled between his thumb and forefinger. 

You shake your head as you slowly walk around the pool of water to the other side, as far away from them as possible. “I’m good,” you softly decline. Gojo gives you a smirk as he sips his wine. “Why? Too scared?” Geto splashes water at him with his foot. “‘Tarou,” he criticizes, “don’t be a dick.” You don’t let Geto’s teasing bother you though, simply smirking at him as you settle down on a rock. “I don’t really smoke like that. Plus, isn’t smoking prohibited here?” You slide down to stick your feet in, sighing at the warm water caressing your feet.

Gojo snickers at you, giving you a mischievous wink. “Only in the house, according to the rulebook, but they’ll never know we smoked out here.” With that said, he wanders farther into the water, softly moaning at the feeling. The sound makes your stomach flip. “Ah, shit, that feels good,” he sighs as he leans back against a nearby rock, his eyes fluttering closed. You can’t help but notice how long his lashes are. 

Geto does the same, sliding down the rocks and keeping his arm up to spare his blunt. Once the water hits his body, he lets out a deep moan that lights a fire in you too. “Mmm, it sure does,” he sighs. Noticing you from across the way, he smirks at you. “You sure you don’t wanna join us? The pool is big enough for another person if you want another dip.”

The sound of another dip in the warm water sounds heavenly, especially with the ache you feel in your neck. But you shake your head, already coming up with a good excuse that doesn’t involve jumping their bones. “I got my dip already, thanks. If I get in again, I’ll fall asleep and I need to check these emails for–” 

Gojo cuts you off with a groan. “That’s all you ever fuckin’ do is work!” he whines, scowling at you from across the way. You scoff, rolling your eyes at the man-child. “Not true,” you argue. “I have a life outside of work, thank you very much.” You turn away to look at the swaying trees, ignoring the flush Gojo’s scoff causes you. “Shit, you could’ve fooled me.” 

Geto chuckles to himself, making you gap at him. “You think so too?” you ask, shocked. The long-haired man shrugs, puffing on his blunt. “It’s just weird to see you not behind a desk,” he chortles. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes intense. “Actually, I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen you out of your work fits, now that I think about it.”

You cross your legs in the water, paranoid that he can see up your towel. “It’s a nice change though. You could use some relaxation.” You raise both brows at his gull. “Me?” you parrot incredulously. “I could use it?” 

“You think nobody notices how tense you are?” Geto asks, humored. “With the way the boss works you out, I’m shocked you haven’t had a breakdown yet. Everybody talks about how good you are though.” You don’t know if he’s lying but his words make you blush regardless. "Yeah, you know your shit,” Gojo agrees, pouring himself more expensive wine. “It’s a shame you’re so uptight though.”

You gape at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Did he just…?

“I am not uptight,” you scoff, offended. “It’s not my fault I give a shit about my work and my reputation around the office.” You purse your lips at the white-haired man, judging him with your eyes. “You date much?”

You don’t know if it’s the steam creating the illusion but you believe you see Gojo blush. “She’s got you there, man,” Geto chuckles, puffing on his blunt. Gojo gives him the finger before turning back to him. “First of all, I can’t help it if my coworkers find me attractive. And second of all…are you okay?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, why?” Gojo cocks his head to the side, looking worried. “You’ve been rubbing your neck for the past five minutes. What, you thought we didn’t notice?”

You now realize that you’ve been, in fact, rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t even realize it. Quickly, you snatch your hand away. “It’s just a crick. I’m fine.” You crane your neck back in an attempt to ease the ache but that only makes it worse and you bite back a whimper of pain. 

“You’re definitely not fine,” Geto replies, sounding concerned. Seeing both their eyes enveloped in concern for you makes you want to hide away. “You’re the frontman for our company!” Gojo exclaims. “You think I can stand there and talk to people?” You quirk a smile at him, deciding to be witty even when you’re in discomfort. “If you tried.” 

Gojo crookedly smiles at you, making your stomach flip-flop. Goddammit. “Get in the water, Y/N,” Geto firmly says, putting his blunt up on an ashtray near the rocks. “C’mon, we don’t bite.” He, too, gives you a crooked smile that has you thinking less than holy things. “Unless you want us to,” Gojo adds, suggestively raising his brows at you. 

You know that this is a very bad idea. The fact that you can’t foresee what could happen if you decide to take up their offer and soak with them is one that rubs you the wrong way. How can you be so sure that things won’t take a wrong turn if you do this?

But seeing the way your coworkers are looking at you, so worried despite being semi-naked and wet, is making you want to throw caution to the wind and say ‘fuck it’. Finally, after assessing your options, you decide. “Whatever,” you huff passively, “but only until my neck stops hurting.”

You don’t look at them as you gently climb down the rock so you don’t see the look Gojo and Geto share, calling BS on your comment. When you slide down into the water, your body immediately responds positively to the hot, bubbling water. The ache in your neck is immediately eased as are your tired muscles. “Mmm, wow,” you groan. 

“Right?” Gojo chuckles in agreement, taking an empty glass from beside the wine bottle. “It feels much better at this time of day, don’t it? You want a glass?” You know you shouldn’t take the glass from him but the wine just looks too crisp and cold to refuse. And it is crisp and cold, and has hints of fresh fruit, when you take a sip. Then you are taking three, then four, then five. 

Before you know it, you are gravitating faaaaar away from your original spot at the end of the hot springs pool until you’re about arm’s length away from both Gojo and Geto. The wine works quickly, making you feel warm and bold. Bold enough to side-eye the blunt that is settled in Gojo’s fingers now as smoke puffs from between his pink lips. “Actually, pass that over here,” you say before you can stop yourself. But you’re here to relax, right? Might as well do it right. 

Gojo and Geto share a look of shock. “I thought you said you don’t smoke like that,” Geto says, a humorous smirk on his face as Gojo passes you the blunt.

You carefully take it between your forefinger and thumb. “I don’t, but this is the first business trip I’ve had. Might as well celebrate.” You take a short puff, letting the smoke fill your lungs, before exhaling, the tickle in your throat making you cough.

Gojo laughs as you cough and you flip him off. “Oooh, I like this side of you,” he teases. “Not that your princess-y attitude isn’t a turn-on either though.” You take another puff before passing the blunt back to Gojo.

“So you think I’m stuck up?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. Gojo shares a nervous look with Geto who just shrugs. “Not…entirely,” he carefully replies.

You gap at him, gobsmacked. So it’s true! “We’ve just never seen you really talk to anyone before, including us!” he quickly adds. “You should hear what others say about you.”

Though you don’t want to know, you hate how you care. Especially how much of that has influenced these two and their thoughts of you. “I’m not stuck up just because I don’t date coworkers,” you scoff indignantly. "I just don’t need that type of drama, especially from you two.”

Geto raises an eyebrow, not looking irked but more curious at your jab. “What does that mean?” he asks. You don’t know if it’s the weed or the wine starting to talk, but it’s fucking screaming with every bold word you utter. “It means I’ve heard a bit about you two from the women around the office. You both get around.” 

The two look at each other and begin to laugh, making your body flush hot in the water. “Hey, if the opportunity comes to have some fun, I’m gonna take it,” Gojo chuckles, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “And for the record, I’ve dated coworkers that weren’t just hookups but real, genuine relationships.”

Geto nods as he passes his white-haired friend the blunt. “Same here. But you can’t stop two people from findin’ each other attractive or one not deciding to embark on a romantic relationship. Sex is just sex for some.” 

You avert your gaze, not sure if you should even respond or allow yourself to partake in this convo. How’d you even get here? Geto takes your silence for a different perspective though. “You don’t agree?” he asks as he sips his wine, his pink lips now wet from the liquid in his glass. You quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. “It’s not that I don’t, but you’d might as well not date coworkers at all if all you’re lookin’ for is casual sex.” 

“So you’ve never dated anyone at work before?” Geto asks, sounding shocked, smoke billowing from his lips. “Not even before workin’ for this company?” He passes you the blunt again, but you’re not sure if you should hit again. You’re already feeling light and slightly dazed from it. “No,” you answer truthfully. “That just…isn’t me. I’m way more focused on my work.” 

You pass the blunt back to Gojo who passes it to Geto. “Then you need to get unfocused and relax yourself,” he encourages, smiling crookedly at you. “And I know a perfect way that isn’t just with weed. Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” He gives you reach a mischievous smile, a gleam in his eye.

Geto stares at him in disbelief. “What are we, twelve?” he scoffs. Gojo glares at him, splashing water at him. “If you don’t wanna play, you don’t have to, dickhead,” he scoffs. “Y/N and I will happily play a game and leave you out of it. Won’t we, Y/N?” 

You don’t know what it is that makes you give in. Perhaps it is the warmth of the water or the wine or the soft, almost pleading look in Geto and Gojo’s eyes trying to get you to chill. But defeatedly you do. “Fuck it,” you sigh, throwing all caution to the wind. “Let’s play a round.”

Surprisingly, your agreement influences Geto too as he places his blunt up on the ashtray. “Whatever; I guess I’ll play, too.” He leans back against a large rock, tossing one big arm over it, giving you a good look at the water cascading down his broad chest. 

Geto claps excitedly. “Now it’s a party!” he excitedly cheers. “We’ll start with me and then go around. So, Geto, truth or dare?” Geto's dark eyes cut over to you through the steam rising from the water, making your heart leap. “Dare.” The white-haired hottie turns to give you a mischievous smirk. “I dare you to do one lap around this pool naked.” You and Geto blink at him dumbly. “You’re kidding,” you both say in unison. But Geto is deadass, staring his friend down and daring him to say no. 

“Fuck you,” Geto growls, but gets out of the pool regardless. You watch as he does, unable to keep your eyes off of his big, wet body and muscles that ripple and flex as he moves. When he is finally out of the pool, he stands with his back to you and begins to take off his trunks. When he finally takes them down his waist, it just about causes a nosebleed when you get an eyeful of his tight yet plump and toned ass, slightly paler than the rest of his tanned body. You don’t even want to see what his dick looks like. Luckily, he keeps his hands cupped over his junk as he begins to do a lap around the pool, much to his dislike and Gojo’s amusement. 

You’re unable to laugh, still staring at his ass. It’s just so plump and squeezable and– “He’s got a nice ass, right?” Gojo whispers, suddenly beside you. He stares you down with those crystal blue eyes, making your mind go blank. “It’s okay; you can look. I don’t mind sharin’ the view. You should try seein’ it every single night like me.” He gives you a wink that makes you realize what he’s saying. “Wait…are you–” 

“Dating?” he finishes, chuckling at your shock. “Don’t tell him I said that. We’re still keepin’ it on the low.” This newfound information only confuses you more. So if they’re dating, are they also dating other people? Do they do so separately or together? And what about the sex? And how come this hasn’t spilled to the work departments? You’re sure there is someone at work that has been with both of them if this is the case. Sex…with both of them. The idea makes you feel strangely hot. 

You’re so dissociated that you don’t even realize that Geto has gotten back into the pool…without his trunks. You find them drying on a nearby lounge chair. ‘Oh, God,’ you lament to yourself. ‘Why is this happening to me?’ 

“Happy now?” Geto gruffly asks his coworker…and boyfriend, apparently. “You just wanted to see my dick, probably.” Gojo just smiles and turns his attention to you. “Your turn, Y/N.” Against your better judgment, you take your glass of wine and take a sip. “Gojo, truth or dare?” you ask.

Geto gives him his signature, lazy smirk. “Dare.” You swish the wine around in your glass, thinking of a good dare that isn’t dirty or won’t make your clit jump at the sight of his body. “I dare you to…drink the hot springs water.” The white-haired hottie laughs, waving a passive hand. “What? Too scared?” you challenge, smirking at him. Gojo’s eyes widen an inch, shocked at your gall. That’s all it takes for him to crumble. After gulping, he bravely dips his head down into the water and takes a sip. Geto gags in disgust while you hysterically laugh. Poor Gojo comes up seconds later and swallows every ounce of the water, looking positively sickly afterward. “How do we taste, ‘Toru?” Geto snickers, earning a splash in the face. 

“Your turn, Sugu,” you say and then flush, realizing what you just said. Geto doesn’t seem to realize it though, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything. “Y/N, truth or dare?” He asks, his deep voice like a rumble beneath the surface of your desire. “Truth,” you say, earning a scoff of pure disgust from Gojo. 

“How come you don’t like us?” he bluntly asks. You blink at him, wondering if he’s joking, but he’s deadass. His fixed stare tells you so. It’s such a random question that it takes you a moment to process it. “What?” 

“How come you don’t like us?” he repeats, fixing you with a very intense stare. Gojo does the same, his eyes locking with yours from across the water. “I wanna know that too, actually.” You’re frozen, unable to think, speak or move. You weren't expecting this. “You’re puttin’ me on the spot?” you scoff, irritated by Geto’s question. “What, was this a setup?” Geto scoffs as he takes a short puff of his blunt, smoke billowing from his soft, plump lips. “You set yourself up for that one, mama. So you gonna answer it or what?”

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes slits that barely move from yours. Gojo continues to stare at you, both silently and patiently waiting for you to answer. It is as if the water got ten times hotter. You don’t want to answer, but you also know that they’ll probably keep pestering you about it and remind you that this is part of the game. “No, I don’t dislike you,” you defeatedly sigh. “What gave you the impression that I don’t?” Geto is happy to enlighten you. “Well, for one, you never really wanna talk to us, you’ve barely said anything to us on this trip–” 

“And you’ve been hidin’ away in your bedroom since yesterday,” Gojo adds. “I mean, my social battery can run low too, believe it or not, but we’re startin’ to think you hate our guts.” Though he says it jokingly, you can tell from the saddened look in his eyes that he means it. Guilt twists in your gut and you officially feel like the bitchiest person in the world.

“I don’t,” you say apologetically. “And I’m sorry about earlier when I yelled…and that I’ve been actin’ like a bitch. I just don’t hang with coworkers too much. It’s not my thing, like dating. I find a lot of the people I work with to be…” You trail off, searching for the right words that the alcohol and weed are making especially difficult to do. 

“Annoying?” Geto offers. 

“Fuckin’ insufferable?” Gojo asks. “Or maybe that’s just our department.”

You giggle softly at their comments. “No, and no. But people don’t really talk to me too much anyway because I’m, as you say, ‘uptight’.” Gojo raises a curious eyebrow at you. “And you’re okay with that?” 

You stare down at the water, not wanting either of them to see the downtrodden look in your eyes. While you’d love be more social at work, you also know that this is probably for the best. “If it means I won’t have anyone backstab me and destroy my rep at work, then yeah. It’s not like I don’t have friends though, but I don’t do dating.” It sounds absolutely pathetic, but you just can’t have anyone distracting you from your work or have you get caught up in the realm of workplace drama. If that means missing out on meeting someone nice or possibly catching some dick despite every other woman in your department doing the same thing and being left out of the conversation, then so be it. 

Geto hums like that is damn shame. “That’s too bad,” Gojo tuts, “because the motherfucker who manages to scoop you up would be lucky.”

If a record scratch had any place in the conversation, it would be now. As soon as your ears catch Gojo’s words, your eyes widen and your heart skips several beats. ‘Da fuck?’ you think, confused. Where the hell did that come from? And why the fuck was it so damn smooth?

You stare at Gojo who stares at you right back, completely confident and incredibly intense. “You’re lookin’ at me like you can’t believe what I just said,” he comments, cocking his head to the side. "You really don’t see how fuckin’ pretty you are? That’s a damn shame ‘cause you absolutely are.” He sips his wine like he didn’t just say those incredibly flirtatious and random ass words. Like he didn’t just make your heart pound and your stomach jump. 

Your eyes flit to Geto and he’s giving you the same look that Gojo is: flirtatious; intense; extremely unfriendly. He looks like he wants to dick you down from where you’re sitting. Right then you feel the tension in the air return, but this time, it’s fueled by sexual energy and feelings unexplored and unacknowledged. Until now, that is. You grip your towel tighter to you, staring down at the water instead of your coworkers’ unyielding gazes. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that,” you laugh incredulously to yourself. 

“Oh, are we?” Gojo challenges, causing you to nervously bite your lip. “Geto, truth or dare?” You don’t know why you look up, but you do, finding Geto’s eyes still targeting you. “Dare,” he replies, his voice but a deep growl. You swear your pussy turns into a goddamn heartbeat. Gojo smirks at you from behind his wine glass, a mischievous gleam in his icy blues. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.” 

You blink at him dumbly, his challenge slowly processing in your head. “W-What?” you squeak. You look to Geto, hoping he’ll be just as confused and alarmed as you, but instead, he’s still looking at you like he wants every single piece of you. “You don’t have to dare me to do that,” he softly growls.

Suddenly, faster than your mind can process it, he is standing in the water and making his way over to you, his big, muscled body on full display…including what lies down below. You nearly forgot he is completely naked now after completing Gojo’s dare.

Though you can’t see him beneath the dark surface of the water, you can see his dark happy trail and toned stomach leading down the dark patch of curls where his cock is. You picture it being long and thick, just swinging like a pendulum between his thick, three-trunk legs. His long, black hair cascades down his broad shoulders in wet waves like snakes as water droplets drip down every inch of his skin. You find yourself wanting to lick each one off. 

You know you should stop this. You should call it off and get out of the water. But something inside of you–that rebellious, raging fire inside of you–stops you from moving, even as Geto is finally in front of him. Though he is close enough that you can smell his scent–like vanilla and cinnamon–and feel the warmth radiating off of him, he gives you enough space to leave if you wish or even push him away. He is still patient and considerate of how you feel.

You’ve never felt so…taken care of. That's the right term, isn’t it? You’re too stoned and tipsy to think about it. 

Geto peers down at you with those violet eyes that make you feel like you’re waltzing through a field of lavender. “Are you okay with this, sweetheart?” he whispers, concern in his eyes. “Just tell us to stop if you don’t want this.”

You shouldn't want this. You shouldn't want to have any part in this mess. But you find yourself silently nodding. He then cups one of his big hands against your face, making your eyes flutter closed from the pleasure his touch evokes inside of you. 

And then his lips are on yours. His kiss has to be one of the best ones you’ve ever had in your life. It’s a kiss you can only find in Disney movies or storybooks: magical; tender; it sweeps you right off your feet. And yet it is so sensual and seductive, his lips seducing you with every single slow movement against yours.

Gojo takes his other hand to cup the other side of your face, holding you in place as his kiss deepens. At some point, you feel his tongue lick tantalizingly at your bottom lip, silently asking for access. You allow it to him and his tongue swirls with yours, creating sloppy, suckling sounds that make your pussy clench beneath the water. He tastes of Moscato.

Finally, he pulls away, but doesn’t stray too far from your lips. “Truth or dare?” he asks you, his voice low and breathless. 

You’re breathing heavy, your mind blank and dizzy from the kiss. You almost ask him to repeat himself. “Dare,” you hear yourself answer.

Gojo presses another long, deep kiss against your lips as if you can't get enough. “I dare you to kiss Gojo,” he says in a low, lustful tone. You nearly get whiplash with how fast you turn to look at Gojo.

He is already moving in close, a hungered look in his eyes. “Shit, I’ve been waitin’ for this for years,” he exhales before his lips cover yours. While his kiss is still just as intoxicating and swoon-worthy as Geto’s, his is also rougher; wetter. He teases and plays with you, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth and swirling his tongue around with yours, even sucking on it slightly. 

It feels oh-so good. You find yourself grasping at Gojo’s broad shoulders, running your hands down his biceps. You feel his hands move to hold your waist, never once going under the towel, but your body tenses as if he does. Though you want to melt into this kiss and take whatever Gojo gives you, at the back of your mind, you’re still apprehensive of where this could go. You can’t believe any of this is happening.

Gojo notices this and moans disapprovingly against your lips before pulling away. “You’re so tense, babe,” he coos, concern in his blue eyes. You look down at the rippling water, hoping to gather your thoughts if you look away from him. “Is this too much?” Geto worriedly asks, his deep voice from behind you causing your heart to flutter. “Do you want us to stop?” 

The fact that their concern for your comfort makes you wet––and not at all from the water at this point. Despite you currently being sandwiched between two very big and buff men who could certainly make you do whatever they wish, they don’t and you’ve never felt safer.

You also feel quite fearful of that feeling and the desire to let go. How can you be sure it won’t lead somewhere else? What if you indulge in these inhibitive desires now and regret them later? What if your coworkers find out? Then you’d be the talk of all departments. 

‘Fuck it.’ The thought comes to your mind like a bat out of hell. At the moment, you don't care about anyone or anything else except for the two men occupying your space. You don’t care about anything except quenching your thirst and easing the throbbing between your legs. You don't care about tomorrow–just now.

You turn to Gojo, boldly staring into his eyes. “Did you really mean that?” you softly ask. “Have you really wanted to kiss me for years?” 

Gojo’s eyes widen an inch over the random question, but he doesn’t neglect to answer you. “We both have, princess. We’ve been pining after you for a long time now.” His honesty makes your heart leap.

"We just never said anything ‘cause we figured the damage was done,” Geto explains. “You know how word gets around the workplace about employees’ personal sex lives. It’s like a locker room in that bitch.” 

“And just in case you’re wondering, you’re the first coworker we’ve ever been with like…this…with,” Gojo adds. Geto side-eyes him to which Gojo grins guilty at him. “Yes, I alluded to us dating. You won’t tell anyone though, will you, sweetheart?” But you’re silent, too busy trying to understand what Gojo meant. “This?” you inquire, confused. 

“What Gojo means is we’ve never shared the same partner from work,” Geto explains. “Usually, when we have sex with a coworker, it’s something we do individually and not together. If we do happen have a threesome or something like that, it’s just a hookup from the club or the bar.” The gears in your head are slowly starting to process. “So you have an open relationship?” you curiously ask. 

“It’s just something that always worked for us,” Geto explains. “We agreed that we wanted to keep things lowkey for the time being, so whatever we do with the people at work stays between us and them. However, when we’re alone, it’s us and only us. But being with you has made us want different. Something real and not on the low…if that’s what you want too.”

They both stare you down, silent and patient but their eyes scream desire and tenderness. Two things you’re craving for right now. However, Geto takes your silence for discomfort. “We should stop. I don’t wanna overwhelm her or–” 

“Change my mind,” you blurt. The two stare at you confusedly.

“Sorry?” Geto asks, coaxing you to repeat yourself. You’re more than happy to do so, moving closer to him as you do. “You said you never told me how you felt because of how I thought about you two ‘cause of the rumors. If you’re not what our coworkers say you are and if it’s true that you feel this way about me, then change. My. Mind.” 

That is all the two need to hear. They’re on you immediately, pressing their bodies against your front and back. You are completely trapped between them, and you couldn’t be more content. Gojo’s lips move hungrily agains your neck while Geto’s mouth sucks on your neck, no doubt leaving hickies that you’ll have to cover with concealer the next morning. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he growls against your skin. “Such a fuckin’ tease. Makin’ us feel this way for so long…” His big hands begin to caress your hips and ass over your towel, causing you to moan into Gojo’s lips. 

The white-haired hottie chuckles into your mouth before pulling away with a wet smack. “You’ve gotta pay for that, princess,” he teasingly whispers into your ear. “Startin’ by losin’ this thing.”

He tugs on your towel, nearly ripping it off your chest. You make a small noise of protest, your eyes flitting to the brush surrounding you. “No one’s gonna see us, darlin’,” Gojo coos in your ear. “This place is surrounded by trees. It’s only us here, baby.”

Geto’s hands slide up your hips under your towel, distracting you from your nerves. So you let them disrobe you. The towel comes off, floating away in the water, leaving your bikini to be the only thing separating you from them. Then you slowly untie the strings holding your bikini together.

You let the top fall from your chest, revealing your naked breasts to them, and then your bottoms come off, exposing your naked pussy to the water. Though they can’t see it yet, you know they have the advantage of touching you if they wish. And you wouldn’t stop them. The two men are immediately dumbstruck at the sight of you, their eyes widening. 

“Goddamn,” Geto hisses while Gojo whistles at the sight of your naked body. Both reactions make you flush, a newfound confidence flowing through your core. You feel like the sexiest bitch alive.

“This definitely beats those tight-ass pencil skirts you be wearin’ to work,” Gojo chuckles as he runs his long fingertips down your sides. “So many times I’ve thought about bendin’ you over my desk while Geto kisses those pretty lips of yours.” You whimper at his naughty fantasy, wanting the same thing. 

“Or while I play with these gorgeous tits,” Geto mumbles, pressing his front to your back. One of his big hands moves to gently fondle one of your breasts, keeping his touch light. His warm palm and fingers touch every sensitive part of your breast, even pinching your hardened nipple.

A moan escapes your lips, unable to be hidden anymore. “And there’s another one for you, ‘Tarou,” the long-haired beauty chuckles, nodding at your other free breast. "Help me relax her a bit more.” 

Gojo quickly swoops in and begins suckling at the brown peak of your hard nipple, his wet tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Geto follows suit, taking your other nipple into his mouth and suckling gently on it. Your mouth falls open into an O of ecstasy, the feeling of their hot, wet mouths and tongues caressing your breasts a euphoric experience.

“Fuck,” you whimper, leaning your head back against a rock. Geto hums approvingly as he continues to lap at your nipple as if he is trying to draw milk from it. “That’s it, baby,” Gojo coos, pausing from sucking your nipple. “Just relax. You deserve this.” His pearly whites begin to nibble gently on your nipple, the slight sharpness of his teeth making you draw a sharp breath. 

‘I do,’ you find yourself thinking. ‘I deserve this.’  You deserve every ounce of the pleasure they are trying to give you. Your hands move to caress their hair, gripping the strands every time they lick or tug on a particularly sensitive part of your gorgeous titties.

Your pussy can’t take it! She’s dripping for attention at this point, begging you to put her out of her misery. Gojo must realize this from the way you whine and moan from his and Geto’s lips.“Someone’s excited,” he chortles, smirking cockily up at you. “You want me to touch you?” 

You whimper, hesitant. Your pride does not allow you to use your voice despite your desperation. Gojo just laughs, silently making fun of your dilemma. “Use your words, baby, or I can’t help you,” he teasingly whispers against your breast. His hot breath caressing your sensitive bud nearly makes your pussy’s heartbeat accelerate. You’re losing it, wanting something, anything. 

Your desperation wins. “Dammit, Gojo, just touch me!” you whine. “I want you to touch my pussy…please.” You stare into the ocean-blue depths of Gojo’s eyes, finding the sheer joy in your begging there. You don’t get to stare into them long because Geto turns your face to his and presses a passionate kiss to your lips. “Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’d better give her what she wants before she loses her mind, ‘Tarou.” 

And like a good man should, Gojo puts you out of your misery but lighting stroking your clit with his thumb. The little pulses have you seeing stars and your eyes flutter closed to see more. Gojo proceeds to press kisses to your neck, humming approvingly as he does. “That feel good?” he teasingly asks, his hot breath fanning your neck. It does…but you need something else. Something more. “N-need…need more,” you softly moan. “Please taste me.” 

A lustful look flashes across Gojo’s face. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” He nods at Geto and the dark-haired man takes hold of you by your hips, scooping you up and chuckling at your squeak. He then places you up on a flat rock, allowing you time to get used to the new environment. “Comfortable, mama?” Geto asks you, stroking your outer thigh. You nod, the summer breeze feeling cool against your wet skin and pussy that has become sensitive to everything. 

“Now let’s see what you’ve got for us,” Gojo purrs, moving forward to pry your legs open with one of his big hands. “Shit!” Geto hisses, gaping incredulously at your glistening pussy. Gojo makes a noise between a moan and a hum, filling your core with heat. “Somethin’ tells me all of that ain’t from the water,” he hums, his hooded eyes flicking up at you. “All of that for us, princess? How generous of you. But who gets the first taste?” 

He stares at Geto challengingly, but Geto has already moved in front of him to get in between your legs. “Hey!” Gojo shouts, pouting at his spot being taken. Geto pulls away to spare him a glance. “You were takin’ too long,” he deadpans. “I made the decision for you.” His violet eyes flick up to stare into yours, making your heart and clit throb. “Let me know what feels good to you.” 

You wish you could tell him everything he does feels good: the slow flicks and swirls of his big tongue against your clit; how carefully yet methodically he slides the muscle in his mouth against your wet slit; the pillowy-softness of his lips cushioning your pussy and rubbing against your clit. Your head rolls back, as do your eyes, unable to keep focus on Geto’s head bobbing between your legs. “Sugu,” you moan. “That…ah, shit…that feels really good.”

Gojo isn't a silent eater either. When he isn’t making the sloppiest, wet sounds with his tongue and mouth in your cunt, he’s talking to you, telling you how good you taste. “So wet,” he moans into your pussy. “So sweet…you taste so fuckin’ good for me.” His deep voice rumbling in your pussy only makes you gush more which he happily laps up like a delighted dog. 

You’ve fallen so deep into the pleasure Geto is giving you that you barely hear Gojo getting out of the water to instead settle down next to you. When you suddenly feel a few water droplets splash onto your naked tits, your eyes flutter open to see the white-haired hottie kneeling above you with a teasing smirk toying at his pink lips. “You look so goddamn cute like this, princess,” he sighs dreamily as if imagining his turn licking your cunt. 

Geto begins to swirl his tongue in your clit, using the tip of it to caress your clit. His ministrations cause you to whimper pitifully, the pleasure too much for you to take. Your eyes flicker down to Gojo’s groin in your face and you notice the tent he’s pitching in his trunks.

Not even thinking, your hand moves to caress his hardened dick, your puppy-dog eyes staring up at him pleadingly. Surprise flashes in his eyes before it is replaced with full-blown lust. “Oh? You want me?” he questions, smirking down at you. “How can I deny such an adorable request?” 

Without another word, he unties his Calvin Klein swim trunks and shoves them down his tanned thighs, revealing his gorgeous, thick, hard cock protruding from a patch of silver pubic hair. Your eyes widen as it pulses and throbs in front of your face, ready for all of you. Gojo raises an expectant eyebrow at you, his hand grabbing the base of his cock.

Knowing what he wants, you slowly open your mouth, covering your teeth with your juicy, kissable lips. He slowly slides his cock inside of your inviting mouth and you clamp your lips around him. A long sigh leaves his lips and his head rolls back, exposing his neck and bobbing Adam’s Apple. You continue to bob your head along his long dick, soon becoming used to his girth. 

You take one hand to replace his wrapped around his cock and begin to swirl your tongue along the head, lapping up the precum that dribbles out for you. Gojo stares down at you, his blue eyes dark and face flushed with pleasure. “Ah…fuck!” he softly moans, his eyes squeezing shut as your tongue runs over the most sensitive spots along his cock. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of this: you with your pretty face stuffed full of my cock. You look even better than in my dreams.” 

You slowly take him back into your mouth where you begin to move your head back and forth along his cock, hollowing your cheeks to make your mouth tight. Gojo isn’t quiet either–he moans and swears; whimpers and groans at the feeling of your tight, wet mouth wrapped around him. You try to follow the same pattern as Geto’s slow, teasing strokes, taking your sweet time. The sounds that leave your lips are sloppy and lewd, making your pussy clench tighter in Geto’s mouth.

When you finally feel like you’ve gotten used to him, you begin to try to take Gojo into your throat…God, is that a mistake. Already, your jaw begins to ache and your throat feels full from him, but Gojo doesn’t consider that when he gives you a lustful, deviant stare. “Want me to fuck that face, princess?” he huffs. “Nod for yes.” 

Your throat is gonna hate your ass for this later, but you nod, causing Gojo to moan at the vibrations against his dick. “Good girl. Now listen carefully: if any time you need something, if you wanna breathe or want me to stop, just tap my thigh twice, got it?” You nod once again and Geto praises you. “So obedient,” he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “C’mon, ‘Toru, don't tease the girl. Give her what she wants.” 

Gojo doesn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, he shifts his hips and slides deeper inside your mouth, sliding across your throat. You choke a bit as he does so until you can nearly feel him touch the back of your throat. You instantly open your throat more as if to yawn and breathe slowly through your nose, trying to avoid choking along Gojo’s cock.

He doesn’t go slow either. Immediately, his hand grips your hair and he proceeds to rut into your throat, fucking your face like he is in need of it. “Ah, yes!” he moans, high-pitched and brazened. “Take it, baby. Take all of me down that throat like a good lil’ girl.” 

And you do, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes and the ache of your jaw. Spit pools along your bottom lip and drips down your chin, causing your mouth to make sharp, sucking sounds whenever Gojo thrusts.

His eyes are wild as he stares down at you sucking him off like the best little slut he’s ever had. “I bet you’ve been feenin' for this, haven’t you?” he chuckles deviously. “I bet the thought of havin’ the both of us has made you wet, right?” 

You don’t answer, too occupied with his merciless, rough thrusts and heavy balls slapping against your chin. Gojo pulls back a bit to allow you to speak as Geto sharply smacks your pussy, making your clit jump with pleasure as soon as his palm makes contact with it. “Answer him,” he growls.

You nearly cry out in both pleasure and pain, becoming drunk on the strange mixture. “Yes!” you moan around Gojo’s cock, your words muffled and gargled. “I-I’ve wanted this! I’ve wanted you both for so, so long!” 

Gojo grins widely, sliding his thick cock out of your mouth. The sight of it being so wet and slick with your spit makes your stomach flip excitedly. “Gooood girl!” he coos, patting your cheek. “You deserve a reward for your honesty. Sugu, switch with me. I’m almost jealous seein’ you get a taste of that pussy for so long.” 

Geto is up and out from between your legs immediately, jumping at the chance to get his dick in your mouth. And shit, is it a dick to behold: he is much thicker than Gojo but not quite as long with one long, pulsating vein trailing from the pink, bulbous tip dripping his precum to the base that leads up to a patch of black hair and a smooth, toned, tanned stomach and V-line. You can't take your eyes off of him, even as he and Gojo switch positions.

Geto grabs his dick and holds it in front of you, his eyes dark with lust and need. "Stick your tongue out,” he breathlessly orders you. You do so and he begins to tap his head against your tongue before sliding himself in your mouth. Damn, is he thick! Your mouth and jaw stretch to accommodate his size though not without discomfort. 

Geto groans as he slides deeper and deeper, each inch opening up your throat more. “Deeper, mama,” he grunts. "Take me deeper.”

He gives you no choice but to do so, even though your nostrils burn from inhaling and exhaling too hard to avoid choking on his dick. You can’t help but gag on it though as your throat flexes against his shaft that begins to stroke the wet walls of your throat. He, too, begins to fuck your throat though not as roughly or quickly. His strokes are slow yet deep, touching the back of your throat with every single thrust of his hips. 

Gojo watches from the waters below, settled in between your thighs as he begins to caress your pussy. “How’s she feel, Sugu?” he teasingly hums. “Isn’t her throat heaven on earth?”

Geto only answers with a moan, his entire body shuddering at the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. Gojo’s tongue sliding inside of your pussy nearly distracts you as he begins to work your little, wet hole. You moan along Geto’s cock as your thighs tighten around Gojo’s head. He pulls away a bit to speak, his lips glistening from your wetness. “You’re so tight, princess. All I’m doin’ is just tonguefuckin’ you and you’re clenchin’ around me. Wonder how’d you feel with my dick in you.” 

"You might wanna…ah, shit…finger her, just in case,” Geto huffs, still bumping his hips against your mouth. “Get her ready for when she…fuck yes, baby…takes you.”

Gojo hums appreciatively at the lewd idea. “Mmm, I like the way you think, Sugu.” Before you can even prepare, he is replacing his tongue with one of his long piano fingers. You practically scream around Geto’s cock as Gojo fucks you with his finger, slowly but effectively bringing you closer to the brink of madness as he strokes your G-spot. 

You can’t help it–you pop off of Geto’s cock to vocalize your pleasure and need to orgasm. “God, ‘Tarou!” you moan. “Please make me cum! I’m so, so close!”

Your toes curl against Gojo’s head and your entire body clenches as he pushes you farther toward that hill. He grins up at you, his finger still curling in your cunt in a ‘come hither’ motion that has you witnessing God. “That’s some good begging if I haven’t heard it before,” he snickers. “Cum for us now, baby. Gush all over my fuckin’ face.” 

He ducks his head between your thighs again, his tongue doing the talking now. The constant stimulation against your clit and the wet strokes of Geto stroking his dick in your face cause you to hurdle down that hill into a sea of bliss. When that chord finally snaps inside of you, you practically scream to the skies above as you gush all over Gojo’s face, your entire body tensing as the pleasure flows through your veins.

Gojo appreciatively laps up every ounce of your cum, never wasting a single drop. “So sweet!” he groans. “You gave me so much, princess. You must’ve been so needy for so long.” 

Geto pauses his dick-stroking to greedily stare down at your open legs and his boyfriend’s face between them. “Hey, don’t be greedy. Gimme some of that, too.”

He ducks down to press a hand to the back of Gojo’s head and bring him in for a rough, open-mouthed kiss where their tongues swirl and hands thread through their hair. You can’t help it–you begin to touch yourself at the erotic sight of the two attractive men kissing in front of you. Gojo notices and pulls away to laugh, a string of spit trailing from his lip to Geto’s. “Uh-oh,” he coos. “Looks like someone liked seeing that. You naughty slut, gettin’ off to us kissing.” 

You whimper, unable to deny it. Geto groans while Gojo looks visibly pained at the sight. “God, you’re just too cute,” he growls, visibly frustrated by your adorableness. “It’s takin’ everything in me to not fuck you silly right now.” You can see it–his cock is throbbing and twitching for you, as is Geto’s. 

The two stare down at you as if you’re a dessert place they’re desperate to get a taste of. “What do you want now, princess?” Gojo asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips. 

You have no time to be prideful. Your throbbing, aching pussy won’t allow you to. You’re about to tear your hair out if you don’t get either of them inside of you. Your hand continues to stroke your pussy right in their faces, beckoning their cocks forward.

“I want both of you,” you beg. “Please…I can't wait anymore. I’m on the pill too, so please just fuck me right here, right now.” The you that you were before this encounter would’ve given you a look of pure disgust at your babbling and pleading to get fucked by two men you barely know. 

The duo side-eye each other, devious plans in their eyes. “You take the front, I take the back?” Gojo snickers. Geto scoffs, not even bothering to give an appropriate answer. “I could give less of a fuck where I end up. Just as long as my cum ends up all over her.”

While your pussy clenches at the vulgarity of his language, Gojo mockingly gasps, delighted at his boyfriend’s words. “So vulgar!” he giggles. “I love that.” He then gives your ass a smack, the sound reaching the very tops of the trees. “On all fours, baby. Don’t keep us waiting.” 

You do as they say, slowly getting into position, now facing Geto while Gojo settles behind you. You shiver at the feeling of the white-haired hottie’s hands caressing your ass, giving it sharp spanks every so often. Geto’s violet eyes glimmer down at you as he strokes his cock in your face.

“Open wide, mama,” he coos, and you do so, looking up at him as you obediently widen your jaw to accommodate his size. Speaking of accommodating size, your pussy is busy doing the same thing to Gojo’s cock that has just begun to slide inside of you, slow and careful. 

You tense slightly as his cock stretches out your pussy. You can’t remember when you had a dick this well-endowed. Gojo’s hands stroke your sides, easing your nerves. “Just relax, princess. Tell me when you want me to continue.” He keeps his hips still despite Geto’s slow strokes as he gently fucks your mouth. After a few minutes of adjusting, you pull away from Geto’s cock to speak.

“Okay,” you softly say, turning to look behind your shoulder at Gojo. “Go ahead. It’s just a stretch, but I’m not hurting. You can move now.” Gojo nods and begins to roll his hips into you. As soon as he does, you’re both moaning at the feeling of his cock stroking your insides. “Just as I thought,” he grunts. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You can’t even describe how he feels. His dick stretches out your cunt and strokes every single pleasurable part of your insides that have your legs shaking and body trembling. The more he thrusts, the more he rubs up against your G-spot, almost painfully so. It’s just too much! 

But Gojo holds you firmly by your hips, completely bottomed out inside of you and rearranging your guts with every single thrust. “Uh-uh, baby; don’t run for me. You begged me for this shit and now you’re gonna take it.”

He chuckles at your whines of protest and trembling body, making you feel even more like a pathetic slut. You want to escape from the constant stimulation, but the way he continues to beat your pussy into submission and drag you closer to your second orgasm is too delicious. And he’s so, so deep! The more he thrusts, the deeper he gets until he is very nearly kissing your cervix (but not too much for pain). 

“‘Tarou, please!” you whine, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Too much…so deep!”

Gojo giggles–fucking giggles–at your struggle, his pearly whites gleaming brighter than the sun. “Yeah?” he chuckles. “Just how a slut like you needs it, hm? Nice…and slow…and deep?”

He begins to rock his hips back and forth into you with every drawn-out word, agonizingly slow and enjoying the way you squirm and whine around Geto’s cock when the long-haired beauty slides it back into your gaping, wet mouth.“Don’t slack now, mama,” he chuckles, finding amusement in your sensitivity. “Don’t be a pillow princess either. You’ve gotta work for this.” 

Gojo lets out a shuddering moan, his head tossed back to the evening sky. “Fuck me,” he moans, shuddering at the way you feel wrapped around him. “With the way she’s squeezin’ around me, she’s doin’ a good job so far. We should test her and see if can still handle it.” He gives Geto a wide, evil smile from over your shoulder. “Let’s fuck her at the same time.” Geto shares the same evil smirk and you can already tell you’re in danger. 

“W-Wait, guys,” you protest around Geto’s cock, but you can’t finish the rest of your sentence as pleasure explodes in your core when Gojo begins to piston his hips inside of you at the same time as Geto. They each match the same pace and pattern, rutting in and out of your holes until your eyes are wet with tears and your body is aching for release. They fill you to the brim with their cocks, using your body for their own pleasure while also giving you yours.

“Please!” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re begging for. Do you want them to continue? Do you want them to stop? You don’t know, your mind too fuzzy with pleasure to decide what is too much. Either way, the two devils currently filling your holes decide to do as they please anyway, fucking you like there is no tomorrow. 

“Come on now, princess,” Gojo breathlessly coaxes. “Fuck me back. Show me how much you need this shit.” You feel him prop up one leg for a better angle–one that causes your clit to tingle excitedly and be stimulated with every thrust.

You moan around Geto’s cock as you begin to shamelessly whine your hips and toss your ass back into Gojo’s thrusts, meeting him halfway. Geto lets out a loud, panty-dropping moan, his black hair like a wild mane around his face. “Fuck!” he practically bellows. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did, but she just took me deeper!” And you did–you can feel him touching the back of your burning, raw throat from it constantly being fucked. 

Gojo smirks at his boyfriend’s blissed-out expression, slightly slowing down his thrusts. “While your pussy feels amazing, sweetie, I’m not gonna lie: cummin’ down your throat and possibly on your pretty face sounds very enticing.” Finally, he pauses from fucking you despite your whine of protest. “Wanna switch, Sugu?” 

Geto immediately pulls his dick out of your mouth, his eyes flashing with lust. “I thought you wouldn’t ask.” Warning signs flare in your brain as the duo slowly switches places–Geto in the back, Gojo in the front. Your throat and your pussy are currently throbbing and aching with sensitivity from their cocks. How are you going to handle more?

“Boys…I-I don't think I can…” Gojo shushes you, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Just relax, sweetness. You don’t have to lift a finger. Just let us fuck these pretty holes the way you need us too, okay?” He flashes a white-toothed grin at you.

Before you can agree or protest, both of their cocks are sheathing inside of you once more. “God!” Gojo moans at the same time as Geto wordlessly sighs as he sinks into your pussy.

They waste no time fucking you, both sliding in and out of your body at the same time. Your body bounces from the force of Geto’s thrusts, your tits jiggling and ass slapping in time with his thrusts. You can tell he is close to his orgasm with how forceful his thrusts are. 

You’re not too far behind–you can feel your own orgasm quickly rising to the surface, your core beginning to distractedly tighten. Geto notices your shift in body chemistry and loops a hand between your thighs to rub your wet, aching clit. You scream around Gojo’s cock, sobbing at the pleasure.

“You’re close too, aren’t you, mama?” Geto asks. “I can feel that body shaking. I should speed up, shouldn’t I?” He does so, slamming his hips against you so hard that his balls begin to slap your clit. 

Gojo speeds up too, filling your nostrils and tongue with the scent and taste of him. “Maybe I should too, so you can take this fat load all the way down your throat.” He presses his hand into your hair, coaxing you to look up at him. “How's this for relaxation, hm?” he teases. “Just what you needed, right?” 

‘Yes!’ you scream in your head. This is exactly what you needed to take yourself out of you for a moment–to be fucked and used; to receive pleasure while also giving it. “Tryna act like you didn’t want this or like us,” Geto huffs, “when in reality, you’ve been needin' some dick for the longest. I bet you were burning inside just wantin’ this for yourself.” He continues to circle your clit, his fingers working overtime. “Such a greedy little girl.” 

You are a greedy girl because that second orgasm begins to rise within you with every thrust of Geto’s cock and pulse of his fingers against your clit. That chord begins to tighten again, threatening to snap very soon. “Sugu, please!” you whine around Gojo’s hard dick still deep down your throat. Your eyes screw tight and your brows knit together, no doubt giving an ugly expression. 

“Go right ahead, baby,” Geto grunts, fucking you faster. “It’s fine. Give it all to me. I know you want to, so don’t you dare hold back.”

Gojo chuckles from above you, gently stroking the back of your head. “You heard the man, princess,” he whispers. "Go ahead and cum for him. Be a good little slut and cum all over that fat fuckin’ cock. Don’t you wanna be a good girl for us?” 

Vigorously, you nod, right on the point of losing all sanity. Grunts and moans fill the air as the duo continues to fuck you, chasing their orgasms. “So goddamn pretty,” Geto grunts, giving your ass another sharp smack. “I’m gonna cum deep inside you, gorgeous. I hope you’re ready.”

Gojo is losing it too, his thrusts becoming rougher, causing you to gag around his cock and spit to drip from your bottom lip. “He ain't the only one, princess. I’m gonna nut deep inside this pretty mouth of yours, and you’re gonna love it.” 

He dips down to press his lips to your ear, gripping your hair as he does. “You wanna take these loads like a good lil’ cumslut? You wanna make us happy, right?” You whine desperately, wanting nothing more than to just cum and have them cum with you. “Please,” you whimper. “Please cum for me, both of you.” Your soft, sweet voice is all it takes for Gojo and Geto to lose the last bit of their self-restraint. 

After a few more rough thrusts that have your body shaking and your soul nearly being stripped from your body, the men finally reach their breaking point. With two long, drawn-out moans that could possibly be heard over the treetops, Gojo and Geto cum deep inside of your holes.

You gasp around Gojo’s cock when you feel his warm cum spurt deep down your throat, filling your tastebuds with the creamy, salty substance.

Geto cums deep inside of your pussy, so much that you can feel it dripping down your thighs. “Take it!” he demands in a dangerous growl that makes your stomach flip. “Take all of us, baby.” And you do. You don’t have a choice. 

At the same time, your orgasm hits you like a truck, slamming into you with enough force to have you sobbing. You pop off of Gojo’s cock, ignoring the spit and cum dripping down your chin. “Oh, my God!” you moan to the heavens, head tilted back and eyes squeezed tight as your orgasm washes over you. “I’m cumming!” you babble. “I’m cumming!” 

“Yes, baby, we know,” Gojo chuckles, gently stroking your face. He then cackles at your expression. “Look at those pretty eyes rollin’ back. Such a slutty face you’ve got there, babe.”

He squeezes your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together as your orgasm continues to rock you to your core. You wish you could feel this feeling of euphoria forever. You’re not thinking about work or this business trip or your responsibilities. All you’re thinking about is how good you feel and the men that are making you feel this good. 

Finally, after a few slow breaths, you come back down to earth though your head is swimming and your body is exhausted. At this point, the sun has left, plunging you, Gojo, and Geto into a blueish shade that twilight provides.

The crickets chirp and the cicadas buzz, alerting you that it is now nighttime. Your eyes flutter closed, unable to hold themselves up anymore. You feel tired and are in need of rest. Your body aches in the best way, your pussy feeling sensitive and full. A weak moan leaves your lips as Gojo and Geto gently pull out of you. 

“Still on earth with us, mama?” Geto softly asks, stroking your backside. “Can you move?”

You weakly shake your head, knowing damn well your legs are mush and your feet have lost their mind. Gojo giggles from in front of you, stroking your scalp. “Looks like we took the life right outta her,” he laughs. “Let’s get her in the house and under some covers.” 

Though you can’t see anything because your eyes are closed, you are aware that one of the men has scooped you up into his arms and has begun to carry you back into the house. “M-My towel,” you mumble tiredly. Your head lulls against a broad, wet chest, your ear catching the sound of a heartbeat. 

“We’ll go back out to get it,” Geto murmurs to you. “You just relax for now.”

And you do, nearly falling asleep in his arms but not enough to miss snippets of the journey from the hot springs to the house. The boys immediately take you upstairs to their bedroom where they proceed to lay you down on the softest and silkiest of sheets. You sigh when your skin immediately hits the cool sheets and soft mattress, your tired muscles relaxing instantly.

You feel the mattress dip when Gojo and Geto get into bed on either side of you, trapping you between their hard, warm bodies. “Did you enjoy yourself, baby?” Geto asks as he lifts a glass to your lips. “Here, sip some water.” 

You do so, grateful for the drink. “Mmm-hmm,” you softly reply, eyes still shut. “It was so nice…you both were so good.” Gojo chuckles from next to you, his long fingers tracing shapes down your arm. “Why, how sweet of you. It was nice for us too.”

Geto hums in agreement, looping his big arm around the back of your head to serve as a pillow. Comfortable silence descends upon you three that only comes from good sex. You feel content in their arms, in this bed with them. You feel like whatever you three are could work, no matter what your workplace has to say behind your back or on the low when they need some juicy gossip.

You want to ask them if you’re dating now or if that is even possible for the three of you, but sleep and the mingling scents of their cologne tell you that it can wait until morning. All you want is this comfort and this good, good feeling to last. 

“Y'know you really were amazing for us, babe,” Gojo coos, his lips ghosting over yours. “Just tell me somethin’. Who made you cum the hardest? Was it me or was it–“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo,” Geto growls, “or you’ll be sleepin’ in that lake."

All you can do is giggle before sleep finally comes and you fall into a beautiful dream of you three, together. 

THE END. 

[ash5monster01]

Learning to Love Part 7

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: 18+, langauge, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, fake relationship, eventual smut, minor enemies to lovers trope.

Summary: It's not uncommon for you to be shamed for your size, it is however uncommon to be told that no one would ever date you because of it. Rafe on the other hand is used to being called a jerk, that is until he is accused of seeing people for only what's on the surface. It's purely coicidental you two meet right after these accusations are thrown your way. So even though you two don't know each other, and probably never would've looked the others way before this, now you're both going to prove a point. It's simple really, prove others wrong and don't fall in love. Easier said than done.

word count: 3.5k

Part 6 ←→ Part 8

Masterlist

When you agreed to drive Rafe to work you hadn't expected for him to drag you inside. Especially since you were still wearing your bar clothes, jeans that would reek of tequila by the end of the night, and a T-shirt that acted as a spare rag half the time. Now your fingers were interlocked with Rafe’s, in a grey suit as he marches through his building full of other suits and pencil skirts. Add on the fact everyone looks on with confusion, shocked to see someone like you walking in with their sexy as hell boss. You knew most of the women fantasized about him taking them over his desk and the image alone sent a chill down your spine. Rafe looks to you with confusion and you just offer a smile as if you weren't just picturing him having his way with you.

"Hey, long time no see" AJ beams at you two when you reach the top floor and you offer a sweet smile even though you entirely resent her for being one of those girls that could easily have Rafe on his desk if she wanted.

"AJ, I'm taking the rest of the day to spend with my girl. Make sure Matt and Levi don't start a game of strip poker again" and she nods with a salute that has you snorting in laughter over the fact that even happened once before.

"It was one time at an employee party" a man you assume is Matt calls out from a corner office and Rafe rolls his eyes as he leads you to his own office.

"Kaitlyn, hold my calls and cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. I'm taking some personal time" Rafe says to the prettiest brunette girl you've ever seen with the brightest green eyes. Kaitlyn nods and starts typing away at her computer like she was trained to obey every order. Then Rafe was guiding you through large double doors that revealed the largest office you've ever seen. You stare in awe as he shuts the doors behind you and the click of them shutting closed is enough to make you jump.

"What's wrong?" he asks, spotting how just closing the door suddenly made you nervous.

"Do you know what they think we're doing?" you whisper and he looks confused until he spots the bright pink hue flooding your cheeks.

"Oh" is all he says and you chuckle, unable to look him in the eye which he finds entirely too cute.

“And how do you know this?” he asks as he approaches his desk.

“Come on, it’s like every book cliche ever. Girl dates important guy, guy bends girl over his desk, tale as old as time” you say confidently and it’s only until his eyebrows raise towards you that the confidence deters.

“Are you admitting to me that you read dirty books?” he asks and your neck burns with embarrassment.

“I’m just saying” you pout and he laughs as he sits behind the desk and begins to type at his computer.

“There’s just one thing I have to finish up before I play hookie with you all day, that’s why I didn’t want you to wait in the car” he explains and you nod quickly as you allow him time to work.

Thing is, you’re impatient. Which Rafe notices quickly when you sit at the chair in front of his desk and won’t stop bouncing your leg. It takes you not much longer after that to stand and start observing the room. Looking at the shelves and pictures on the walls. It was only a few emails he had to send, confirm a few projects, but now he was finding it hard to pay attention with you walking around all pretty and staring at his office with awe. You study the room like you're studying him, trying to fit puzzle pieces into the mystery that Rafe Cameron is. Yet even his office, a place that should be so intimate to him, is still just as bland as his home. Lacking warmth, evidence of a life, hiding everything underneath the surface.

"You like that one?" his voice pierces through the silence and you almost jump again as you look away from the abstract painting on the wall. To someone else it seems like it's just various colors, swirled around and claimed as art, but you see it. The curve of a larger girls shilouette, the hip dips and heavy stomach and breasts. She's there but hidden within a sea of beautiful colors. It deep, beautiful, and entirely too intimate. "It's new"

"It's beautiful" you try not to tear up, because surely Rafe Cameron is like the rest of the world. Blind to something so beautiful hidden within. It was probably bought for its colors and the beautiful swirls that fill the canvas and not for the shape of a woman hidden inside who just wants to be seen for more than what's on the surface.

"It made me think of you" your breath hitches almost instantly, trying not to take his words with as much meaning as the painting had put over you.

"Not much of a picture guy then, huh?" you want to act entirely normal about what he just said but how can you. He had dropped a bomb and you weren't sure how to diffuse it. It all depended on what Rafe saw when he looked at that picture. If he saw the colors or you.

"Don't really have people worth taking pictures with" Rafe says, a small scowl on his face. You know it isn't entirely true but for Rafe all the pictures from his past held reminders. Reminders of ruined families and friendships all for something obselite now.

"Well that's to bad Cameron because I'm gonna take a picture of us and frame it for this exact office, put it right next to that computer of yours so you see it all day long" You tease and Rafe chuckles lightly, looking much happier now.

"That's probably not a good idea, I'd be looking at you more than doing my work" the compliment bubbles in your stomach, settling and warming you over, but you move past it like you always do.

"To bad, we're taking one" you say and he laughs before gesturing you over which makes you furrow your eyebrows.

"You want to take it now?" you ask and he nods, patting his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world for you to come over and sit on him.

"Yeah, have a picture of us in my office in my office" he says and you snort lightly, walking towards him while trying to ignore your nerves.

"How breaking the fourth wall of us" you say as his hand lands on your waist and guides you to sit on him. You try your best to keep your weight off of him as much as possible but he pulls you to him before you can even try. You land on his lap as his arms snake around your waist and chin lands on your shoulder.

"Okay baby, take the picture while I still look good" he teases and you roll your eyes as you grab your phone and open the camera app.

"You always look good Rafe" you say and your ears burn red instantly. Rafe grins and presses a kiss to your shoulder, not saying more to make sure he doesn't embarass you further. Even if he likes it when you get all flustered. "All right, smile"

An easy smile crosses Rafe's face as you hold the phone up and try to take a picture of you two. Yet when your thumb meets the button he's kissing your cheek, breath fanning over your neck. You giggle instantly hand clicking more than just one picture, the two of you laughing with each other. It feels all to real and you hate how much you've come to like the boy underneath you. Saying goodbye will be all that much harder the more you keep getting close like this.

“You have to be smiling normal for at least one" you tell him with a pout and he smiles at you before nodding.

"Okay baby, one more" he tells you and this time he obeys, easy smile on his face as he squeezes you close, foreheads leaned against each other. For a moment you look like a real couple, two people just happy to be together. It warms you over as you drop the phone and go to look at the few pictures you had managed to get. Rafe watches over your shoulder, holding you close and not letting you go.

"You ruined almost every one" you say and he shakes his head, looking at that beaming smile on your face as his kisses you and not the fake one you normally wore.

"No I didn't, they're perfect. I want that one" he says pointing at it and you roll your eyes, trying to avoid the saying that lays on the tip of your tongue anytime you look at a picture of yourself. I look fat you want to say, eyes catching the slight double chin from your beaming laugh. You're unposed, unaware of the way your body looks so big compared to his.

"I look... I don't look good" you try to convey, avoid looking at him and you feel him sigh against you.

"You always look good, especially in that picture" he tells you, hands squeezing your waist. It should be a sentimental moment but his hands make you jump and Rafe realizes fairly quickly that he has just tickled you. Even though there is other parts of him affected by you bouncing on his lap he can't help but grin and start digging his fingers into you. You squeal instantly, toppling against him and trying to lean away but Rafe holds you close, laughing as you cry out for him to stop. Your both to caught up in eachother you miss the knock and open of the door to his office.

"Sorry to interupt Mr. Cameron" you both freeze, hazy smiles left on your faces as you see Kaitlyn in the doorway.

"What's up Kait?" he asks, a small huff to his breath from how he was just tickling you. You should feel weird to be sitting on his lap as his employees speak to him but you’re still trying to get your heart rate back to a normal pace.

"I just wanted to let you know I've cleared your schedule and sent over those files from yesterday that you needed reviewed. I can do the next pile if you need" she says, a small pink hue to her cheeks for having caught the two of you giggling like lovesick teenagers.

"That would be great Kaitlyn, me and my girl we're just heading out here. The stack is where it always is and you have a good rest of the day" you blush deeply when Rafe pats your bottom, indicating you stand up so the two of you can leave. You watch as he readies himself and then locks his arm around your waist to guide you out the door. You give Kaitlyn a small wave as he walks you back through the office, head high, and proud that you're the girl he has his arm wrapped around.

When you reach his apartment you make yourself comfy. You had planned to work all day, distract yourself from feelings for Rafe but look how far that had gotten you. So you sit on his couch, clicking through Netflix in search of a good movie, something to get his mind off of things. You’re still not entirely sure of what kind of movies he likes so it’s proven to be pointless, mindless clicking, until he returns to the living room in leisure wear and falling next to you on the couch.

“What do you want to watch?” you ask as his head lays on your lap, looking up to face you. You’re certain you’re unflattering from this angle but caring about things like that had been proven pointless with Rafe.

“I’m good with anything, I don’t really watch movies” you’re shocked to hear this, considering when most girls were out on dates you were at home watching the latest film and enjoying every second.

“So you’re telling me you haven’t watched the classics?” you ask and he shrugs against you.

“I’ve seen the Godfather once and that was about it” you shake your head at him, saddened to hear your fake boyfriend hasn’t watched at least the required films of any human beings on this earth. So you set off on a hunt, trying to find the perfect film, going through almost every streaming service, until you find the one.

“Here we go” you mutter to no one in particular as you hit play and Rafe furrow his eyebrows as he looks at the screen.

“Dirty Dancing” he pouts and you can see the crease in his brow from where he lays on you.

“Oh don’t be a boy about it, watch it like a man” you tell him and he chuckles before rolling to his side and getting cozy on your lap. From where you sit you can’t see Rafe’s reaction and as much as he’s enjoying the movie he’s enjoying you whispering the lines behind him, knowing what song was next, and most of all the way your legs shifted underneath him when the characters truly dirty danced. His hand had come to caress your leg as the movie progressed, unable to stop himself and you took that as an invitation to run your hands through his hair.

Finally it had reached the scene where Baby goes to Johnny’s cabin and admits her feelings, Rafe knows this is an important part by the way your hand freezes against his head. The music starts as Baby and Johnny start undressing each other, your breathing has become uneven, and based on the glance Rafe dared to take you look wrecked for a girl who has had nothing happen to her. He waits patiently as the two characters begin to get intimate and once the scene is over he takes a chance and hits pause.

“Hey” you mutter softly, voice hoarse and eyes still semi glued to the screen. Rafe rolls onto his back, looking up at you as your hand that was in his hair falls to his chest.

“Can I ask you a deeply personal question and you answer me honestly without freezing up?” his sentence makes your heart accelerate as you look at him. You take a moment to catch your breath before answering him.

“Sure” you know you shouldn’t of said it but you’ve crossed personal lines with Rafe that you had never expected to and soon he won’t be a part of your life anymore, no harm in being vulnerable if it’s guaranteed you never have to see him again.

“Have you, ever done stuff?” you’re confused by the question until it suddenly dawns on you what he’s asking. Your silence instantly makes him feel guilty. “It’s just the whole thing with the hickey and no intimacy rule. Then the way you’re reacting to that scene, it’s just. I don’t know”

“I’ve never” you whisper, unable to look into his eyes. Regret swirls in a pit in your stomach. “I want to. I want to trust someone so deeply that I can but how can I? Everywhere I go people look at me like something wretched and if they’re daring enough they’ll say things loud enough for me to hear. I’ve been told how repulsive I am for years because of my size, seen it movies, watched it in real life. It would break me beyond repair if I undressed in front of someone like y- someone and they decided they didn’t want me”

“Hey, you are not repulsive. You are so beautiful, every piece of you” Rafe tells you and you shake your head, looking away to hide the tears that rim your eyes.

“I wish I could believe that” you whisper, not even for him to hear because the worst thing about compliments was the fact you could never actually believe them.

“Hey, look at me” Rafe says as he sits up, pulling you to face him. You accept defeat as you turn and lock your eyes onto his own. “You are perfect the way you are. I would never lie to you about that and any guy would be stupid to walk away from a beautiful woman that is naked for him”

“I just panic Rafe, as much as I try to fight it and push it away. I can’t” you mutter, lip trembling and a tear falling loose. Rafe feels bad for bringing it up but he reaches to brush the tear away anyway. He wishes he could find the right thing to say, to convince you that you were just as good if not better than anyone else. To tell you how much he is attracted to you. Yet he can’t do it. You’d never believe him and in the end this is all fake. You’re going to leave him just like everyone else and he isn’t prepared to lose you by messing this all up.

“It’ll get easier, one day you’ll meet someone you trust more than anything and you won’t even remember ever feeling like this” Rafe says it because he knows it’s true. He was convinced he’d never really love someone, trust them entirely, that is until he met you.

You take a moment to respond to him. He has no idea he has just broken your heart in two. Meet someone, not him, which means he didn’t want anything to do with you. This whole time you had been catching feelings for a boy you made a rule with not to. Maybe when you made the rule you’d hoped he’d be the one to break it but of course it was you. He was just another boy to add to the long list of crushes who would never ever be attracted to you. So you decide you’re no longer going to be weak in front of Rafe Cameron. What’s the point if he just proves he could never love you?

“In order to meet someone Rafe this will have to end” you don’t want to say it. There’s really no point. You know you won’t meet someone and ending this will only sadden you more for having to let him go. Rafe stiffens beside you and you feel guilty almost instantly.

“I know” he says quietly and you swear you almost hear the heartbreak in his voice but that can’t be true. Rafe will have proven his point, he can go back to girls like AJ, and live a life without being bullied for only liking supermodel women. You will go back to failed relationships and being unable to trust your partner.

“Listen it doesn’t have to be now-” but the shaking of Rafe’s head has you swallowing your words. Is he about to end it right now? Had you said too much?

“It can be, look our worlds don’t intermingle often. So if someone at the bar flirts with you or asks you out, you’re welcome to say yes. We can keep pretending but if you find something serious we can end it” Rafe tells you and you fight the new tears that are burning at the back of your eyes. It’s kind but it means it won’t ever be him.

“I guess the same goes for you. Someone at the office or whatever” you say, your voice slightly cracking at the end and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“I guess this had to end at some point” Rafe shrugs and you wish he was just as sad as you. You had gotten close and pretty soon he would become just a stranger again. You didn’t want him to be. He had become so much more.

“True but we still have some time” you say to which he nods, knowing it wasn’t over just yet. For some reason it felt like it though. He just had no idea how he could make you believe that he loved you.

“Exactly which if you’re free Saturday night I have another work event. Rooftop with a pool and open bar” Rafe suggests and you giggle lightly, relishing in the fact that the same boy who had upset you was the only one who could cheer you up too.

“Well how can I say no to that?” you say as a smile cracks across Rafe’s face before he lays back down and into your lap.

“Hey, what do you say we finish this movie then order some pizza?” he says and you nod, heart heavy with the goodbye bound to come but full of love for the boy in front of you.

“Sounds perfect”

a/n: I’m not sure when the next update will be out considering the Holidays but for now please enjoy. I rewrote this chapter about three times and they’re all entirely different versions but I feel like I like this one best. I want this story to take the best course that is possible. Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed so far. I wanted to put this out before tomorrow because tomorrow is my birthday and I’ll be far too busy to be writing! We’re about halfway through folks!

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @fishingirl12 @houseofperfecttaste @abbybarnesstuff @carma-fanficaddict @jjmaybankisbae @exhaustedbutelated @diagnosedpsychosis @daivny @drewstarkeygf @vinniehackersbaee @emsgoodthinkin @apollo3475 @https-urwife @willowalexissss @kisstaya @hcneyedsstuff @lexiereblogs @drewsuncrustables @mveggieburger @marvel4life3000 @bibliophilewednesday @humungouspatrolwolf @ijustwanttoreadlols @jaijustreads @sleepjam @dilvcv @aaronhotchswife @sunshine1218 @lavenderhazeq @theultimatefrenchfangirl @kravitzwhore @chalahyung01

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[thechekhov]

If I may, what’s your biggest regret/joy from making this series into what it is? I hate the AUs that are just “The show but everything is exactly the same minus slight differences that don’t amount to anything” so your comic has a deep place in my heart :)

That's an interesting question!

(Though I AM personally fond of AU stories with more fundamental change, I don't particularly feel like the hate towards those 'change a minor thing' AUs is justified. There are many ways those stories can be very engaging! They're different for sure, but they, too, have value!)

I think my biggest joy has been the fact that I'm able to continue the comic.

It's my largest project by far and I've had a lot of growth because of it! Drawing over 200 episodes that's kinda inevitable but regardless, I'm grateful for the circumstances which have allowed me to keep it going. For the readers, for the luck I've had in my job, and for my partner's support!

My biggest regret is.... honestly nothing?

I could say I regret not taking this comic more seriously from the beginning.... but it was the casual nature of Season 1 that allowed me to keep it running in the first place! If I had been trying for season 3-4 art from the beginning, I would have probably burned out and quit much earlier!

I could say I regret small changes here and there, but again - all my previous decisions have made the comic into what it is today! All my choices have compounded into the story's current arc.

What I DO regret is...... because I now have to juggle my IRL job and my comic and GMing, I have very little time for anything else.

I also regret that this workload makes me an even grumpier person than I am naturally, and sometimes I just don't have the patience to present myself in a PR-positive light. I grow frustrated with readers who assume I have more time than I do, and I get annoyed by those who expect me to perform customer service work and answer questions (which are in the FAQ). I know it isn't their fault, and I KNOW I should appreciate their curiosity... but being tired all the time means I sometimes cannot react reasonably to answering the same question 100 times.

And it's hard! It's hard to have to be the 'face' of a comic and be expected to interact with everyone with an everlasting smile, even when I'm bone tired. I'm not even a social person by nature! I don't want to be a public figure. I don't need people to idolize me. I just wanna draw.

But that's less of a comic regret and more just a general regret of not realizing that this is a part of my 'job' now.

I wish all the other artists that use tumblr or twitter or any of those other sites a very 'you do NOT have to wear the Social Media Personality hat'.

anyway............the point is............ it's mostly joy! No real regrets about the comic itself.

[aqlstar]

If you don’t mind answering, I have a few questions about Assyrian independence, cause I’ve been wondering for a while. Also apologies in advance if my phrasing is accidentally wildly inaccurate, I’m not very educated about the topic at all but it’s very interesting to me still.

I know the Assyrian independence movement exists, but how popular is it, and how put together is the actual movement? Are there any steps being made towards the idea of independence or is it basically just a hope for people that one day it will come?

I think it was you who talked about how many groups that fall under the larger ethnic group have different beliefs about who they originate from. Like an Assyrian could believe that they’re descended from ancient Assyrians, an Aramean could believe they’re descended from ancient Arameans, but to my understanding they will still think of themselves as the same group, or at least connected to each other? So how does that factor into everything? I’ve read a bit and it seems that it makes it much harder to figure out what to do because nobody can agree properly on a shared group and place of origin.

Connecting to that question, do people generally want independence to be in historic Assyria/Aram/wherever a group believes they originate from, or the places where they’ve been for a long time? (ex for the latter type of place. the area where half of my family spent galut in is part of Iran and has spent most of its existence in the Persian empire, was never part of the Assyrian one, but Assyrians have been there in substantial numbers for about a millennium because of I think the Mongol invasion of Baghdad)

Also, is there a general consensus of how there should be independence? Like a state, or more of an Assyrian controlled area in another country, similar to the currently more independent parts of the Kurdish world?

Sorry for kind of overloading you here, plus idk if Shabbat has finished wherever you are. Again, this is just a very interesting topic to me haha. Have a nice day!

Shavua Tov and thanks for the question! I’ll add some more info when I have my computer on me, but for now I’ll just say your instincts are right and it is a very very complicated situation.

So disclaimer- I’m one person who is genetically 1/2 Assyrian, and I’m not even a Christian, so even though I’ve done my best to talk to my dad’s family about it and look things up on my own, I am definitely not the final authority on this subject.

There is general agreement that Arameans and Assyrians are the same people, (if you call them related peoples, you will make exactly no one happy 😭- trust me ). The disagreement lies in what that people should call themselves in English, and where exactly they should call home (beyond generally the northern levant).

Some of this confusion comes from the fact that the Aramaic endonym for the group is “Suryoye” should be translated literally (and was, for a time) as “Syrian.” With the establishment of the Syrian Arab Republic in 1944, using “Syrian” as an ethnic designation became increasingly problematic as “Syrian,” the adjective describing nationality, gained prevalence.

The push for independence is strongest in Iraq and Iraqi Kurdistan, which is home to the largest Assyrian minority. So you’ll see a lot of sources citing the areas most densely populated by Assyrians in Iraq as the sole indigenous homeland of the Assyrian people for political purposes. (IMO the Assyrian homeland is probably much larger than that and should include northern syria and parts of Lebanon too).

Remember that the Assyrians living in modern day Iraq were hit very very hard by the Seyfo under the ottomans and anti-Assyrian pogroms (we’re using the word because it fits) under British and Iraqi leadership.

So much of the Assyrian desire for independence comes from not trusting the Muslim Arabs to south and the Kurds to north not to try to murder them all again like they have in the past.

It’s a very difficult situation because the independence movement faces the challenge of the Iraqi federal government and the Kurdish autonomous government/Kurdish separatists.